Concede
by Miss Evrae
Summary: AU Faberry  "Slaves? Hardly," the Mistress smirked. "There is a control in submission just as there is a vulnerability in domination."
1. An Alternative

**Concede**

Part One: An Alternative

She looked at the simple business card in her hand, flicking a corner, testing the weight of it. The fibers bounced back defiantly. It had taken more than a pretty penny to create this card. Its embossed surface was testimony to that. No ink; just the impression of the company name and phone number in elegant script.

_M. Cara's_

_for alternative fancies_

_Damn you, Puck_. Quinn sighed shakily, returning the card to her blazer pocket. How she ever let that man-whore talk her into booking an appointment at this place was beyond her reasoning. A chance to let go, he had explained when he offered her the card. Again, she sighed and remembered.

"Baby Mama, it's been almost two years! When are you going to take that damn vacation and get laid?"

The blonde merely continued her steady walk to the parking lot, thanking the fitness center receptionist as her membership card was returned. "Puck, why is it that you fail to not mention me taking a vacation every time we meet? And I've told you not to call me that anymore!"

"Sorry, **Fabray**. I'm on you about this 'cause your planner," he motioned to the sleek smartphone she'd removed from her purse, "always seems to delete those Take A Break entries I put in every time we meet. I mean, c'mon! I'm not the only one who's noticed your salary and sex drive's gone up but not your social or dating life."

Rounding on him just as they reached her car, Quinn nearly growled out, "You better not be saying what I think you're saying."

Not one to back down, the mohawked man pressed on. "Oh, you bet I'm saying it." With a hiss, the blonde turned her back on him, fumbling with her car keys, trying to escape the words that she'd heard time and again. "Woman, when was the last time you got some, huh? Better yet, when was the last time you went out on a date? Or to a party?"

She was on auto-pilot again. "I go to lots of events! As the assistant director, it's my job to attend—"

"—various parties and social events. Yada, yada, yada. Has it ever occurred to you that all those so-called parties are for work?"

The blonde steeled her resolve and continued, "My job is demanding and requires a lot more time than you and everyone else thinks! I'm **this** close to becoming gallery director and if I don't put in—"

"Oh, **shut up**, Fabray!" Puck snarled, slamming his hand on the car roof.

That stopped the script.

"Look," he continued in a gentler tone, "I—I just…" Closing his eyes and opening them on a long exhale, muttering about being a fucking sap, Puck softly said, "Quinn, we've known each other since before Ms. Pillsbury's sex and health workshop, right?" She crossed her arms and looked anywhere but at him. "I know we've gone through some serious shit with each other." Quinn cleared her throat. "And you know that I—"

"Care about me?" she interrupted.

"I promised I'd take care of you."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes and was about to open her car door when a muscled and tanned arm blocked her. Quinn immediately kicked herself for looking up and into Puck's concerned brown puppy eyes. For a moment, Quinn let herself be absorbed into his gaze. She felt her shoulders slump and slowly uncrossed her arms before letting them drop to play with the hem of her shirt. She closed her eyes to prevent her tears. The blonde fought the urge to rub her hands over her stomach and fortified her mental dam against the flood of memories threatening to break her calming countenance.

"Here," Puck whispered. She felt a small prick against her arm and opened her eyes to see Puck holding out a cream-colored business card.

"Ma'am?"

Startled out of her thoughts, the blonde turned her attention to the freckled youth holding a brass tag out to her.

"Please keep this with you and, when you're ready to leave, present it to myself or another of the valet staff. We'll fetch your car immediately," the young man instructed. Wondering if he could sense her nervousness and anxiety, Quinn merely nodded. "Enjoy your visit."

Quinn Fabray stood before a rather clichéd stately English manor. Hazel eyes took in the red cement brick exterior, large half-glazed windows and immaculate Doric columns, which made its two stories deceptively towering. She knew what business occurred behind the walls and wealthy façade.

_Enjoy my visit? Indeed_, she thought as she rang the doorbell and a pretty tall blonde woman opened the door.

Quinn thought the other blonde was tastefully dressed considering the type of services that Cara's offered. The taller woman wore black leather pants that fit her long, slender legs like a glove and a white leather halter top that showed off her smooth, pale shoulders. An amber bauble hung low on a thin silver chain, bringing attention to her slight cleavage. Her long blonde hair was swept up in a high ponytail, drawing Quinn's eyes to matching earrings and barely noticeable make-up that made the woman's brown eyes that much darker and enticing. Shiny black stilettos only made the woman appear more domineering.

Averting her gaze from Quinn's, the woman stepped aside to reveal an impressive foyer complete with white marble flooring, bright wood paneled walls, heavy green velvet curtains, crystal chandelier and an ascending staircase off to the far right.

The echoes of the other woman's steps derailed her study of a nearby landscape painting, making her practically jog to the door she stood before. The taller blonde knocked quietly before slowly opening and holding the door for Quinn to enter.

Like the foyer, this room also screamed power and prestige; however, it was the two women—another blonde and a brunette—who exuded even greater waves of power than any of the décor. Quinn was certain. This new blonde woman was seated behind a large, dark wooden desk while the brunette stood just beside her, a scowl marring her pretty features.

"Thank you, Brittany," the seated woman spoke. Quinn's eyes widened slightly at the husky and gentle, yet authoritative tone. It baffled Quinn that this woman managed to be heard from that distance without raising her voice.

"You're welcome, Mistress Cara," Brittany replied, her voice even softer and her eyes slightly downcast. "Will you need anything else?"

"No," came the answer. "You may return to your duties."

"Yes, Mistress." Quinn watched as Brittany exited the room, trying to figure out exactly what kind of situation she had gotten herself into. Maybe it was a mistake to come here, to even set up this appointment. When the door clicked shut, Quinn slowly returned her attention to the woman addressed as Mistress Cara.

_So that's where the M comes from._

"Please have a seat."

Quinn nearly tripped over her heels. She hadn't noticed that the marble flooring from the foyer had turned into plush carpet. As she sank into one of the two armchairs in front of the desk, she finally noticed that her hands were sweaty and shaking and that her heart was about ready to break a rib from its heavy, quick pounding. She focused on taking quiet even breaths.

From up close, Quinn noted Cara's green eyes, full red lips, sharp cheekbones and jaw. Her gaze had softened, which only calmed Quinn's nerves a fraction. Her blonde hair was pulled tight and fell in a plait down her back, not a hair out of place. Like Brittany, she also wore form-fitting leather. Instead of a halter, Cara wore a long-sleeved top with a high collar and plunging neckline. A corset only enhanced her ample bosom. On the desk lay a pair of gloves. Her entire ensemble was crimson red. It nearly made her shudder.

"I believe proper introductions are in order," Cara began. "I am Mistress Cara. This is Mistress Santana." The blonde barely tilted her head in the direction of the dark-haired woman standing beside her. Santana wore an outfit exactly like Cara's in black and without the high-collared long-sleeve. She wore leather gloves that covered halfway up her forearms.

"Quinn Fabray." She mentally chided herself for sounding so demure. Santana's scowl only deepened.

"Welcome, Quinn. I'd like to welcome you and thank you for your interest in our services."

"Well, I don't really know if I'd say I was—uh—interested. Maybe intrigued or—or—"

"Curious?" offered Cara.

"Yes, curious." Quinn cleared her throat. "I've never done anything like this before, nothing—um, you see—well, uh…" She began to gesture mildly with her hands, looking between Cara, Santana and her fidgeting leg. "I mean this is new and I'm not sure how to—to go about it all. I've never thought of myself as…as…"

Santana let out an irritated sigh. Quinn kept her gaze on her lap, biting her lip to keep from rambling even more. Cara held up a hand, effectively silencing her companion. "Quinn, let me ask you a few questions." She looked up into green eyes and an amused smile. "Are you a virgin?"

"No, of course not!" Quinn consciously sat up straighter, lifted her chin higher.

Cara's smile grew Cheshire-like. "Have you ever had sex for the sole purpose of procreation?"

"No."

"Tried more than standard missionary?"

Quinn blushed and nodded. Her chin seemed to lower under Cara's intense scrutiny.

"Had erotic fantasies that you would be too scared to even write in a journal for fear of someone finding it? Perhaps you thought they were kinky?"

Again, a blush and a nod. This time, her chin met her chest.

"Do you consider yourself to be a logical lover, someone who knows their likes and dislikes?"

"Honestly, I'm not even sure what I like," she answered. Quinn felt like she was fifteen years-old all over again.

"Let me tell you this, Quinn. While what we do may not be for everyone and even within this community there are various levels of comfort for all play. Unless you have sex purely for procreation and get no form of pleasure or satisfaction from the sexual act itself, then you are a sexual being. As such, engaging in sex that is physically, mentally and emotionally healthy for you is not a crime."

When Quinn furrowed her brows in confusion and in mild disagreement, Cara spoke before she could express her argument. "Like power, sex is only wrong when misused or abused. Many people are led to believe that the sex industry is for the immoral and wicked; and think especially cruelly of those of us who prefer even more unconventional means of gaining sexual and emotional satisfaction."

"Unconventional? As in painful? Violent?" That earned Quinn a growl from Santana, which in turn earned her a sharp look from Cara. The blonde Mistress stood and walked slowly around the desk. Quinn felt like prey that was about to be pounced on.

"What we promote here is not violence or abuse. We encourage respect and trust. There are two things that are essential for both Subs and Doms—respect and trust. Without either, there is no growth or satisfaction."

"Subs?"

"Submissives," Cara clarified.

"You mean slaves."

"Slaves? Hardly," the Mistress smirked. "There is a control in submission just as there is a vulnerability in domination."

Cara was now seated in the armchair beside Quinn. Santana had not moved. Quinn's brows furrowed as her head tried to process Cara's words. "I still don't know what I want."

"It's a matter of both want and need. You've already taken a few steps towards figuring that out." Cara held her hand out to Santana, her gaze never wavering from Quinn. Santana placed a black folder in her open palm. "You've admitted your curiosity. You haven't run out the door threatening to bring God's wrath upon us. And you admitted to not quite knowing what you want."

Cara gave her the file and she flipped it open to find a fairly thick packet of papers. "Homework?" she inquired.

"Hardly. More like a general user's manual for that new toy you bought and haven't told anyone about." Quinn blushed (_Again?_) at the use of the word 'toy'.

"Easy, isn't she?" Santana only received a deeper blush and smirked.

"Mmm, I'm already envious of her future Mistress or Master," Cara commented. "Anyway, please read those at your earliest convenience, preferably before your first official session should you choose to go through with this. Also know that your first session is at no charge. We want to make sure you get what you pay for."

"Mistress Cara?" Both blondes looked up at Santana. "I'm expecting a client in twenty minutes. May I please be excused to prepare?"

"Of course, Mistress Santana," Cara replied. "Is it the gentleman?"

"No, one of our prospects wanted to get reacquainted," she rolled her eyes, "with being a Sub. Forgive the insult, Mistress Cara, but this one could make a thesaurus obsolete with all that rambling."

Cara chuckled.

"If you'd like, Mistress Cara, this may be a good opportunity for us to show Q here what kinds of services we provide." Quinn huffed a little at the nickname.

Cara hummed a little as if considering the idea, but Quinn saw the look in her eye that indicated she'd have no choice in the matter. Green met hazel and Quinn had hurry out of the armchair after the two Mistresses who were already out the door.

"What do you think?" Cara attempted to make small talk as the two blondes waited for Santana's client to enter what Cara had called the playroom. They sat on a loveseat across the room from a massive king-sized, four-poster bed. The Victorian furniture and décor was something Quinn wasn't expecting.

"It's beautiful."

"Were you dreading black walls, no windows and a flogging post?" Quinn's silence only made Cara's amused smile wider. "Maybe one day I'll show you the dungeons."

_Dungeons?_ "You have those?"

"Yes, for our more experienced clients and for some who prefer that kind of atmosphere."

"What do you mean?"

"Some people like the darker aspects—dungeons, heavy bondage and some of the more pain-eliciting practices—to satisfy their needs and wants. We have to be able to provide that for them. Some only like the darker atmosphere but milder play." Quinn studied the vine carved into the wood of the armrest, processing and digesting what Cara had to say.

"Then why not just do these things at home? I mean, if what people want is rougher sex, then…well…can't someone they know—uh—do it?"

The Mistress quirked an eyebrow. "Would you be able to ask a friend or lover to tie you up and spank you? Or to tie you up and dangle you from the ceiling?"

Quinn sighed, "I guess not. At least, not without feeling—I don't know—judged or embarrassed."

"Exactly. Here, we can provide people with the environment and play they need and want without judgment. I am extremely serious when it comes to respecting everyone's confidentiality, including my employees. If anyone sees someone outside of this place, we understand that this may be a part that they haven't told their families or friends about.

Our clients and my employees are people who have reputations, jobs, loved ones and emotions that may be hurt if knowledge of their business here gets around." The Mistress' eyes took on a dangerous look. Quinn fought to keep her gaze steady with Cara's.

"Then how do you get business if secrecy is so important?"

"This business is known by certain select members of the industry and we receive clients by word-of-mouth only. You won't find advertisements of any sort."

Quinn took a deep breath. "And what if I decide not to go through with this?" She released the breath she held.

"Then, I'll ask you to sign a contract outlining your legal promise to not exploit this company, its employees and our clients. In return, we'll also keep our lips shut about your visit."

Quinn sighed. There was no point in exploiting Cara's business. There would be nothing to gain and her already fragile image couldn't afford another blow. Too much shit had hit the fan too many times. Besides, she'd lose Puck. She knew he was a client. Whose she didn't know, but he was one of her best friends. He'd stuck by her when times had gotten tough.

"I still don't understand what it is I'm supposed to learn from watching this."

"To find beauty in all things, including pain, death and tragedy. To understand that what one calls normal may be another's abnormality." There was no hesitance, almost as if Cara had said the lines thousands of times.

"Wait," Quinn turned her head sharply to see Cara's profile, "Did you say death?"

At that, Santana entered the room, dressed in what Quinn could only describe as cliché—a cheerleading uniform. A white long-sleeved shirt under the red and white top with the letters WMHS across her chest. A pleated red skirt showed off her tanned legs and white shoed feet. Her hair was still up in a high ponytail.

"Why is she wearing that? I thought leather was the standard."

Cara simply answered, "Just watch."

Quinn felt her pulse quicken when another young woman entered. Cara noted the pink that dusted the other blonde's cheeks with a raised brow.

The new woman wore a matching uniform, but without the white long-sleeve. Quinn wished the woman wasn't blindfolded, so she could see her face. Not that the visible part of it was unbecoming. _Even the nose is okay_, the blonde appraised. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders to the middle of her back in soft waves. Full lips parted slightly, letting out a barely audible gasp, as Santana led her to stand before Cara and Quinn. That's when the assistant director noticed that she had a few inches on the woman. _Her legs would suggest otherwise_.

"Okay, Man Hands," Santana began, her voice deeper and huskier than it had been in Cara's office, "you've always wanted to be a star. Well, here's your chance." Quinn noticed how the woman fisted her hands at her side when Santana called her Man Hands. "Today, Mistress Cara and a new client will be observing how much you want my touch, my voice, **my** pleasure."

"Yes, Mistress. If it pleases you," the woman replied. Her voice was demure, but Quinn sensed a strength and stubbornness beneath it.

Santana produced a pair of leather cufflinks, gently strapping the woman's wrists behind her back. She led the bound woman to the side of the bed. Quinn swallowed the lump of nervousness in her throat and crossed her legs, barely concealing her growing arousal.

"It would please me very much."

**End of Part One**

Thanks for reading! It's been years since I wrote any sort of fanfiction. A lot of the plot content and characterization in this story is based on both the events of the TV show and my inference of those events and the characters. I've been reading a lot about how Rachel comes to Quinn's rescue by either offering her a home and/or friendship. I wanted to try a more mature and unconventional approach to their potential as a romantic couple.

I am attempting this story with a few years of personal and academic experience and knowledge of various "alternative" communities and always consider the opinions and experiences of others. So, if you are/were an active member of these particular communities please feel free to leave constructive reviews or a private message. For now, I'll keep all play relatively soft and mild.

Let me know if there is an interest in the continuation of this story by leaving a review. I'm looking for a beta.

XOXO-Miss Evrae


	2. A Crisis

**Author's Note:** Thank you to those who reviewed! Please forgive me for not updating a bit sooner. After the flood of reviews and notices that people added me or Concede as a Favorite, I had to write an outline to help with regular future updates. For those who added Concede to your Story Alerts or Favorite Stories, please let me know why you enjoy reading the story. Even if it's nothing more than "Good story. Update soon." OR (goodness forbid) "This sucks. It's disgusting."

To answer questions concerning Cara: Yes, she is based on **that** Cara—Mord'Sith, Sister of the Agiel and bodyguard and friend of the Seeker Richard Cypher/Rahl. I'm using the image of Tabrett, the actress who takes on the role of Cara, for this character. I couldn't think of anyone better than her to be head Mistress.

**Warning**: This update includes sexual content between two women, light bondage, scene and role play, Submission, Domination and humiliation/verbal play. At this point, do I even need to mention language?

**Concede**  
Part Two: A Crisis

o o o o o o o

"Hold up, girl. You did **what**?"

"Mercedes, don't make me repeat it," Quinn begged. She paced the length of the sofa, alternating between rubbing her temples and splaying her fingers wide with a frustrated sigh. "I'm already trying to deal with Puck's even dirtier jokes and could really use someone who can get their brains out of the gutter."

"Hey, don't go bitin' my head off. I'm jus' tryin' to get used to the idea of you…well, you know." The black woman occupied the middle cushion, watching the blonde's back and forth motion.

"Quinn, will you please stop pacing? There's going to be a permanent depression and scuff marks on our newly buffed floors if you continue that."

"Kurt Hummel, I'm not even wearing shoes," the blonde huffed to the young man who just entered the living room.

"I don't care," he replied. "The daily wear and tear will not be expedited by you and whatever issues you've got. I don't understand why you even allowed Puck to persuade you to go to such a place."

"Mr. Theatricality here," Mercedes motioned to Kurt's cotton candy blue and pink pinstriped dress shirt, "is just miffed that his work wasn't selected to show at Best's new exhibition. Oh, don't give me that look. You know very well why you weren't chosen."

Kurt shrugged on a crisp cream-colored jacket to match his pants, preening and styling his hair in its trademark side comb. "I merely requested live models to enhance the swish and sashay of the dresses and that they were to be shown indoors with strict humidity control systems."

"The event was non-profit."

"They could've worked out something with the budget."

"You mean the tiny ass budget they use to create and promote arts programs for underprivileged children?"

Kurt began to tap his foot and repeated, "They could've worked out something with the budget."

"Pssh, artists," the woman got up, heading toward the kitchen.

"If you go anywhere near the couscous, there will be serious consequences."

"You know I've got a knife in my hand, Mister!" Her voice boomed from around the corner.

"Yeah, and when I show up at the hospital bleeding to death, they'll ask what happened and Quinn will have to say that Dr. Jones was one who ruined my favorite shirt!"

"If you want that sandwich…" The doctor left the threat hanging in the air.

Kurt opened his mouth, but promptly closed it, knowing how he and Quinn would have to fend for themselves if Mercedes didn't feed them once in a while. If Mercedes wasn't such a good friend and next-door neighbor, he knew they would've followed through on their initial threats to get the other evicted.

During the two divas' bickering, Quinn had moved to the balcony, absorbing the sights and sounds of the neighborhood just outside San Francisco's performing arts centers. She watched as a steady flow of people dressed in long coats, cocktail dresses, suits and the occasional gang of teenagers and college students made their way to the symphony, ballet or opera. And within those crowds, she knew without a doubt, there were the hopeful souls looking for another that would echo the same sentiment. Sighing, the blonde checked her phone and was barely surprised that there were no missed calls or messages.

"What am I doing?" Combing her fingers through her hair as the wind picked up. "She's not in the phone."

The blonde closed her eyes. _Not anymore._

"Talking to yourself?" Kurt joked while closing the sliding door. "Mercedes had to take a call. She'll be back soon. Here, she made that double decker turkey and B.L.T. sandwich with extra bacon you love so much."

Quinn salivated at the smell. "Oh, bless that woman…mmmm-mmm!"

He made a face and cringed at the sight. "Oh, bless your pores for being able to handle all that sodium and fat. Ugh. It makes me shudder to think that I could be sweating that out of my skin."

"You're such a girl sometimes," the blonde mumbled before inhaling more of her sandwich.

As Quinn was taking her final bites, Kurt put on an optimistic smile. "So," he sat up straighter, "were there any cuties that caught your eye?"

Licking the last remnants of bacon-flavored grease from her fingers, she shrugged. It seems like a non-committal enough answer, though it didn't deter the designer from his goal. No one could stand Kurt's gossip mill, but no one could deny him either.

"I will not be swayed, Quinn Fabray. You can't keep this from Mercedes or me for very long. If necessary, you know we have no moral qualms about seeking some rendition of the truth from Puck."

"You wouldn't!"

"As a concerned and loving friend and roommate, you know just how far I **would** go to have your back."

The blonde visibly deflated, setting her plate aside and standing to look out over the balcony. It wouldn't be so hard to tell Kurt and Mercedes. Like Puck, they had also shown her their true colors and loyalty when her life had taken a turn for the worst. Still, Quinn felt that familiar shame and guilt worm its way from the deep confines of her head where she had shoved and buried it for the past two years. Out of habit, her hand worked its way up her chest to tangle in a gold chain and pendant that were no longer there; and, as if burned, she quickly dropped her hand.

"_How __**dare**__ you wear this and his ring! How can you tell us that you're…you're __**gay**__…then say you love us and God?"_

"Quinn, honey," Kurt placed a gentle hand on hers, "he can't hurt you anymore." She looked at her roommate, confusion and shock swirling in her hazel gaze. Kurt only smirked.

"Is it really that obvious?"

"I love you, Quinn and can read you better than sewing patterns. There's no need to feel ashamed."

She sighed. "Kurt, it was hard enough coming out. Dealing with…with…"

"Sssh," he hushed, "Let's go inside and you can tell me about what happened, hmm?"

The blonde smiled gratefully, letting Kurt lead her back into the living room. "Okay," she whispered. Sitting on her favorite end of the sofa, Quinn waited for Kurt to bring her a mug of hot chocolate and a tea for himself before opening herself up again.

o o o o o o o

"_It would please me very much."_

_Quinn nearly squeaked when Cara crossed her legs and leaned farther back into the plush cushions of the loveseat, the motion jumpstarting her breathing. The blonde Mistress relaxed as if she were doing nothing more than appreciating the serene view through the room's large bay windows. The easy, light sounds of the rise and fall of Cara's chest were the only stabilizing points Quinn had as she continued to watch the scene before her unfold._

"_Where were you during practice?" Santana questioned the still standing and cuffed brunette. The Mistress' hands worked through wavy hair, twirling a lock around her finger._

"_I—I wasn't feeling very well," came the breathy reply. "Ah!"_

_Santana, her fist wrapped in the brunette's tresses, had yanked forcefully down, exposing much of the woman's pale, flawless neck to Quinn's feasting eyes. "You lie." A second harder pull followed. "And you failed to address me properly, RuPaul."_

"_I'm sorry, Mistress Santana. It won't happen again."_

"_Now," the Latina breathed, releasing her hair, "tell me where you __**really**__ were during practice."_

"_Miss Dia—um—Miss Ranog needed to talk to me…Mistress."_

"_Hmm…the new teacher?"_

"_Yes, Mistress."_

"_Tell me what she teaches," Santana said as she lightly raked her nails down the woman's exposed arms, leaving goosebumps and raised hairs in her wake. Quinn was sure she could feel her arms doing the same, though hidden beneath the black of her sleeves._

_The other brunette bit her lip. "Drama, Mis—ss…Mistress."_

_Santana had let her fingers trail down her skirt to her upper thighs. "Surely the new," red lines formed on her thighs, "young," a gentle squeeze of her rump, "blonde," hot breath in her ear, "hot," a resounding slap, "drama teacher didn't need to talk with you about your class…__**performance**__…being inadequate."_

_With a shaky breath, the other brunette replied, "Mistress, she was merely concerned about my health with being on the squad and troupe. She wanted to be sure I was getting sufficient rest and relaxation. She also mentioned not wearing my uniform during rehearsals. Please, Mistress, if I had known it would be such a trivial matter, then I would have been at practice."_

_The Mistress bent the woman at her waist, planting her upper body on the bed and her spankied-bottom in the air. "Yes, you would have been at practice; so, it being such a trivial matter, why didn't you just leave?"_

_The cuffed woman could only lick and bite her lip again. Cara watched as Quinn did the same, the young assistant director's gaze was fixated on the two brunettes._

_When no answer came, Santana drawled, "We'll just have to consider this your second unexcused absence. That's grounds for expulsion off the squad, RuPaul."_

"_No, Mistress, please," the other brunette cried out, "I want to be on the squad! Please! Just tell me what I need to do. I'll do anything."_

"_Anything?" The Latina hummed, "I'm not sure. It seems as if you love Drama more."_

"_No, that's not true!"_

_The woman's exclamation earned her a hard slap. Quinn could make out pink mark just below her panty line, a mere shade of what was to come. "You do not tell me what is or is not true!"_

"_Please forgive me, Mistress Santana."_

"_No," the Mistress only tightened her ponytail. "I will teach you. On the bed. On your knees."_

_Quinn practically whimpered. Cara purred._

_Santana did not aid her as she stumbled a little to get her legs on the high bed with her hands cuffed behind her. Quinn saw that both Mistresses were taking pleasure watching those long toned legs and curved behind strain and tense. She could not blame them. Not at all._

"_I will help you rehearse." Santana began to slowly pull the hidden zipper of the red, white and black uniform top, revealing smooth tanned skin._

"_Mistress?"_

"_Miss Ranog mentioned not wearing your uniform during rehearsals, didn't she?"_

"_I—I don't think this is what she meant…Mistress," the woman squirmed as Santana's hands moved across the back of her neck and her shoulders. Quinn couldn't deny that despite her conservative façade, watching this play of power was doing more than piquing her curiosity._

"_No? Let's see just how good those acting skills of yours really are. I want you to imagine that I am Miss Ranog."_

"_But, Mistress—ah!"_

_A resounding slap reverberated in Quinn's ears and sent another flush of red up her neck and face. She bit her lip to keep from licking her lips._

"_I am Miss Ranog," Santana repeated, pulling the woman's top farther down. Her breasts spilled from their confines, rosy nipples already hardened from rubbing against the silken comforter. The sight forced the young assistant director to clench her legs tighter. She nervously wondered if Cara could smell her arousal. _

_Cara just smirked, leaned closer to Quinn and stirring the hairs by her ear, whispered, "Beautiful, isn't she?"_

_Quinn released the breath she had held. She nodded once. And sent requests to make it through the play session. _Has it really only been eight minutes?

"_Yes, Mistr—Miss Ranog," the bound woman whispered, her breathing steadily growing more and more labored. Both blondes' eyes were transfixed on her heaving chest, watching her breasts bounce lightly with each breath. The red-clad Mistress bit on a gloved finger, her other hand rubbing circles on her thigh._

_Santana continued, "Please, call me Dianna." The Latina caressed the woman's exposed bottom, making it rise farther off the bed._

"_Dianna," breathed the other brunette. Santana noted the underlying reverence._

"_Now, isn't that better?"_

_A nod._

_Another spanking. Another shade of pink darker. "When I ask a question, I expect an answer."_

"_Yes, Mistr—Miss Ranog. Yes, it is better."_

_A slap and a pink-tinged mark on her other cheek followed._

"_I've been concerned about a few things." Santana continued to caress her bottom and upper thighs, alternating between kneading and lightly raking the tips of her fingers across smooth warm skin. "The things I hear about you." The Latina undid the button of the woman's skirt. "The way you look at me." A zipper. "How you linger when touching me." Santana slowly, oh-so painfully slid that short skirt down delicious curves and legs. Quinn was certain it would take her a day (_or so_) to thoroughly explore every inch of those tempting thighs, calves and pretty ankles._

_The other brunette said nothing. Her bound hands clenched and unclenched with each shaky breath. Quinn didn't understand how she was able to find something such as this to be so—well—sexy._

"_At first, I thought that the rumors were nothing but just that—rumors."_

"_Miss Ranog, I swear that's all they are. Mmm!"_

_A particularly hard slap made even Cara quirk an eyebrow._

"_You never listen, do you?" Santana grinned, excited and satisfied with the woman's defiance. "I think a lesson needs to be learned. And who better than your favorite teacher?"_

"_Please…" came the whispered plea, though the word sounded more like a request for more._

"_You're such a dirty girl, lusting after a female teacher!" The Mistress gave the woman a short series of spankings, marking her upper thighs and buttocks with darker shades of pink. The bound brunette exhaled loudly after the fifth one._

"_Oh, Mistress, please…I'm not—aaah!"_

"_What. Is. My. Name?" Four hard spankings punctuated each word._

"_Miss Ranog—oh!" Another strike. "Dianna!"_

_Quinn couldn't look away. Why couldn't she look away? She watched as Santana continued her spanking, alternating between light taps and heavy-handed blows that tore screams from the bound woman. Sometimes, the Mistress would caress her reddened flesh. The other brunette would gasp, her muscles and fists clenched in anticipation of a firmer strike. Then immediately relax when no slap came, whimpers and labored breathing escaping pink full lips._

_Quinn would also watch Santana, her expression never changed, always cold, calculating and indifferent. At first, the assistant director thought that varying the force of Santana's blows seemed random; but, as the minutes wore on and the woman's moans and screams grew louder so did her dampness between Quinn's thighs._

_What control had Cara spoke about? The poor woman had no control over what was being done to her. She wasn't in any position to reclaim her power from the dark-haired Mistress. Quinn began to feel something welling within her, a spark, a quiet and controlled rage that had once driven her. Confidence began to replace embarrassment. Odd understanding began to replace frustration. She felt that something that she hadn't felt in too long—that innate ability to pinpoint exactly what she wanted._

_Cara suddenly stood. Looking down at Quinn's confused and flushed expression, the red-clad Mistress said, "Push her."_

_The hazel-eyed woman knew Cara wasn't talking to her and directed her questioning gaze toward Santana. The Latina nodded once in understanding and drew her hand back while the other caressed the brunette's sweaty back. Quinn saw it happen in slow motion, saw concern flash across the brunette Mistress' face as her hand reached as far back as she dared. She saw how relaxed and trusting the cuffed woman's position was and how she hadn't heard Cara's simple and seemingly cruel order. Quinn wanted to yell for them to stop before someone was hurt, but the moment had escaped her and Santana's arm accelerated in the opposite direction._

_The sound that was forced from the woman's lips was agonizing—a scream that melded into a sob and strangled moan. Santana drew back for a second strike._

No!

"_Ah, Mistress!"_

_Santana shook off the slight sting on her palm and reared it for a third blow._

_Quinn uncrossed her legs, nearly standing up._ No! Stop! Please, stop!

"_**Aaaaah**__! Mistress, stop!" Santana hit her for a fourth time, harder and louder than ever. The woman hissed, flinching away from one of the dark-haired Mistress' light touches. The Latina didn't give her much reprieve and spanked her again. Hard._

_This time, Quinn stood, looking to Cara. "She said stop," she whispered to the other blonde._

_The green-eyed woman ignored her._

_Santana raised her hand for her sixth strike. Quinn could finally see concern and remorse etched painfully in the Latina's furrowed brows and clamped teeth._

_As if she could sense the coming strike, the cuffed woman yelled, "Apple! Apple!"_

_The Latina's hand stopped a few inches away from its target. Immediately, Santana climbed on the bed and touched the woman's wrists. "Are you all right? Are your cuffs too tight? Do you want to do something else?"_

_The short brunette sat up, rubbing her wrists. "No, Mistress. I think I just need some water."_

"_Okay," Santana cooed, "I'll be right back. Regular breaths, okay?"_

_The woman smiled and nodded. "Yes, Mistress." Santana quickly poured a small glass from the pitcher on the dresser and brought it back to her client. She gently undid the leather cuffs, caressing the reddened skin of her client's wrists. The Latina brought the water-filled glass to the woman's lips._

"_Here. Small sips."_

"_Thank you, Mistress."_

_Quinn's eyes nearly bugged out. __**What**__ had just happened? She looked at Cara who was giving Santana a smile of approval. "Apple?"_

_The blue-eyed blonde kept her gaze fixed on Quinn as she asked the two women on the bed, "Tell me why didn't Mistress Santana stop until you said 'Apple'?"_

_The still blindfolded woman looked up in Cara and Quinn's direction and didn't answer until Santana placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I didn't use my safe word, Mistress."_

"_Very good," Cara purred. The blonde then turned to Santana and asked, "Mistress Santana, why didn't you stop until she used her safe word?"_

_The Latina took the woman's glass and refilled it for her before answering. "Some people like or need the ability to say No and Stop without actually meaning it. They need that outlet. So, we agree on a safe word, a word that doesn't normally get used in sessions. A safe word is a definite stop." Santana rubbed her hand lightly up and down the woman's back. "I trust her to use her safe word."_

_Cara returned her attention to Quinn. Her look seemed to ask, "Get it?"_

Got it.

_The blonde Mistress smirked. "Good."_

_Quinn tore her blushing face away from the amused Mistress, watching as Santana took the glass from the other brunette again, placing it on the dresser next to the water pitcher. "Thank you, Mistress Santana."_

"_Hmm…well, shall we continue or have you had enough?" the Latina questioned, sarcasm and humor dancing in her dark eyes as she picked up the discarded skirt from the floor._

"_I need to be able to walk tomorrow, so I am afraid that our next play session will have to wait." She reached out for Santana's hand. The woman in question rolled her eyes but grasped the offered hand anyway. The blindfolded brunette placed an open-mouth kiss on her palm and repeated the action with Santana's other hand._

"_Rachel…please," Santana huffed, drawing her hands away._

_Quinn swore she had whiplash with the speed that she snapped her head back up. Had Santana said the name that the blonde thought she said?_

"_I like it when you call me Rachel," the other brunette replied._

_Quinn's mouth dropped as the brunettes' smiled. Cara's sharp green eyes darted back and forth between the two brunettes and the shocked blonde. Quinn began to back away toward the door, her escape. Her blonde locks shaking back and forth with her head, tears beginning to form in her hazel eyes. Cara turned to face their new client and took a tentative step toward her. Santana and Rachel, oblivious to anything but one another, didn't notice the tension that began to build within the room several feet from them._

"_Quinn?" Cara softly called out to her. "Quinn, what's the matter?"_

_Quinn was drowning in her thoughts and memories, in emotions that had made her feel like they would rip her from the inside out if she didn't physically curl them into herself. That painful yet pleasurable yank from within her chest, her heart traveled to her gut and down to her toes, making her sensible heels seem completely insensible._

_Cara's concerned voice barely registered. All she could hear were clips of two voices that were, by most vocabularies, young and carefree and, by all definitions, female and very, __**very**__ happy. Quinn didn't see the polished furniture or thick carpet; but, instead bright brown eyes, dark brown hair that had been cropped much shorter, a contagious smile and a voice that could stop the world…even if only for a little while._

"Oh, Quinn…I love you," that voice whispered against the sensitive skin of her neck. "You and only you."

"_Quinn? __**Quinn? Quinn!**__"_

_Santana was now standing. Her intense dark gaze switched between Cara and the other blonde cowering near the door. Quinn hadn't noticed that the woman had removed her blindfold._

"_Quinn…" The addressed blonde swore she felt the axis of the earth shift when her name, spoken __**that**__ way by __**that**__ voice, spilled from trembling lips._

It has to be a dream_, Quinn thought when she lifted her hazel eyes to reach a dark brown gaze._ It must be.Fate would not be so cruel. Or so kind_.__ The blonde said nothing. She could not trust her voice or her unfiltered mouth to say anything remotely reasonable. Of course, what reasonable thing could one say in a situation like this?_

_The assistant director noted the longer hair and slightly more mature features. Other than more prominent cheekbones, hair that was no longer cropped and a deeper and more controlled tone, the woman she'd met almost three years ago hadn't changed, the woman whose heart she'd broken not long after meeting._

_Schooling her body and emotions back in check, Quinn could only breathe out a name that she'd been too terrified and sad to even whisper in the quiet and private confines of her own head. "Rachel…Rachel Berry…"_

"_**Fucking hell!**__ You know __**Berry!**__" Cara rolled her eyes shut at Santana's exclamation._

o o o o o o o

Quinn looked up from her hot chocolate just in time to see tea spew from Kurt's gaping mouth back into his mug. She held back a giggle and smirked instead. Not bothering to wipe his chin, the blue-eyed man nearly shouted, "Well, what did you do?"

She kept her gaze locked with his, the answer apparent in her hazel eyes.

Kurt finally dabbed his mouth and chin dry, put down his mug and rested his elbows on his knees, breaking eye contact. "You ran...didn't you?"

Her silence was telling.

"Oh, Quinn," he said, walking around the glass coffee table to wrap an arm around his best friend and roommate. "I'm so sorry you ran into her that way."

The blonde sighed, leaning into her friend's comforting arms. "I'm not sure if I'm sorry about it. I guess it's just been—I don't know—so long since…since…" Silent tears ran down Quinn's reddening cheeks in warm tracks. Kurt started stroking her hair when she began to shake, holding in her sobs for pride's sake.

"Ssssh," he hushed her. "I know, Quinn. I know."

Quinn snuggled further into Kurt, bringing her legs across his, resting her head just under his chin. She listened to his breathing, his steady heartbeat. Soon, she heard a light vibrating against her cheek. Kurt was humming. She smiled and listened.

"When you're down and troubled and you need a helping hand and nothing, whoa, nothing is going right. Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there to brighten up even your darkest nights."

Quinn silently sang along as he began the chorus.

"You just call out my name and you know wherever I am, I'll come running to see you again."

She only smiled when Kurt squeezed her shoulder. It was his way of asking her to join him and as he continued to gently rock her, Quinn knew she couldn't deny her Kurt Hummel. She giggled. No, there was no denying her best friend anything, especially when said best friend only improved your wardrobe, made you hot chocolate without prompt and sang sweet songs.

"Winter, spring, summer or fall," they sang together. "All you have to do is call."

"And I'll be there! Yeah, yeah, yeah!" he belted.

"You've got a friend," Quinn continued.

"You've got a friend." He lightly pinched her cheek.

"Yeah, you've got a friend," she sang, jumping up from the sofa.

"Ain't it good to know," they both sang to each other, "that you've got a friend. Oooh, yeah!" Quinn held a hand out to Kurt, twirling when he grasped it. "Ain't it good to know that you've got a friend."

The blonde's smile only mirrored his as he softly sang the last line, "You've got a…friend…" Quinn cried again and she was relieved to know they were tears of happiness. Kurt pulled her into a hug, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"Kurt Hummel and Quinn Fabray, I swear, if you two weren't as queer as a three dollar bill and glittery unicorn, I'd say hurry up and get hitched already!"

Quinn giggled as Kurt sighed dramatically, turning toward the entrance hallway where a smirking Mercedes stood in her diva glory. "Mercedes, I'll have you know that my lesbian wife and I are exclusive and don't take kindly to being walked in on, particularly when we're enjoying an intimate moment."

"Uh huh," she harrumphed. "Anyway, just wanted to tell you to call Puck. He keeps texting asking why you two aren't picking up your phones. Apparently, there's something important he wants to talk to Quinn about."

Kurt nearly fell over when Quinn tugged on his sleeve. "Puck—do you think he knew? About **her**?"

Her hazel eyes implored him, but before Kurt could even begin to formulate words, Mercedes approached the roommates. "Is something going on that I don't know about?" When Kurt and Quinn only gaped at her like a couple of fish, she went on, "Oh, hell to the no! I'm not going to be left in the dark, especially about something that involves Mistresses and Puck! So, you two better start yapping."

"I'm going to need something a bit more motivating than hot chocolate."

"There are a couple containers of Ben & Jerry's in the freezer," Kurt deadpanned.

"Bring the one with the most in it," Quinn requested. "Oh, and any bacon we have left."

"You really **are** my lesbian wife, aren't you?"

o o o o o o o

**Author's Note:** Oh, man, that was difficult! Please review or send a message about what you thought of this update, especially **that** particular scene. Thank you for reading.

By the way, you will be reading more about impromptu singing scenes. C'mon! It's Glee!

**Songs**:  
You've Got a Friend—James Taylor


	3. A Couple

**Author's Note:** Thank you to those who added Concede as a Favorite Story or signed up for Author or Story Alerts and a bouquet of flowers to those who left reviews! I've been on vacation for the last few weeks, but am ready to continue punching out more of Concede. There will be a bit of lag time between now and the next update because I want to write more to make future updates more frequent and regular.

Yes, Ranog is just a scrambling of Agron. Kudos to everyone who noticed that little joke!

Also, I've been debating with people about whether or not Rachel Berry is, in fact, vegan. In an episode, she ate a slice of pepperoni pizza with Finn, which made me question the whole vegan angle. Will someone fix this dilemma?

**Concede**

Part Three: A Couple

o o o o o o o

Quinn didn't know how Cara had managed to convince her to return to the brick-walled manor, but here she was again, standing outside while nervously wringing her hands as she waited for the blonde Mistress.

A week ago, she had retold her story to Mercedes over a full pint of Ben & Jerry's Strawberry Shortcake ice cream. Sadly, all the bacon had already been consumed. Kurt didn't sympathize with that particular misfortune of hers. Mercedes had only raised her eyebrows and commented, "Wow."

When the door opened, Quinn blinked at least four times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating because there was no way that the woman who was standing opposite her was the same Mistress Cara from last week. Cara was dressed simply and casually in dark blue skinny jeans, a white V-neck shirt and a black leather jacket dangling from her hand. What startled Quinn the most was Cara's hair. Parted down the middle, it hung loose with the ends brushing her shoulders.

"Surprised?" the Mistress teased, her trademark smirk in place.

Quinn nodded. "I thought you had longer hair."

"I just pin the plait on whenever I'm working. Otherwise, my partner prefers this," she tilted her head, letting Quinn get a look at straight blonde locks.

"Your partner?"

"Yes," the Mistress confirmed, arching an eyebrow that dared Quinn to ask her next question.

"As in your husband?"

Cara grinned deviously, "We'll all get to have lunch together after our coffee."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

Cara chuckled. "Don't be. Even I enjoy being domestic once in a while."

"Still, you can't go without even a little leather," Quinn giggled, pointing to her black boots, the leather wristband adorning the other woman's left arm and the leather jacket she held.

"Hmm…just something I've grown to appreciate over the years. Shall we?" Cara gestured toward the large car garage just behind the manor.

Inside the massive garage, Quinn counted four cars—including her own red convertible—and twice as many motorcycles, ranging from sharp-cut sport bikes to retro standards. She was sure the garage could house at least ten more cars with room for a rolled out red carpet. In addition to her car, there was a modest-looking white truck, a deadly silver two-door Benz and a sporty red compact hatchback.

"I'd ask you if you want to take your car, but seeing as I invited you out and I love driving too much, we're taking mine."

Quinn expected the Benz, but was mildly baffled when the lights flashed on the compact red hatchback as Cara disarmed its system. Of course, she should've known from the crimson red paintjob and custom license plate—M CARA. Quinn slipped into the passenger seat as Cara pressed the clutch and turned the ignition, a satisfied smirk crossing her features.

"Who owns the Mercedes?"

"Santana," answered Cara, slipping on sunglasses before pulling out of the garage.

"I thought for sure it belonged to you," Quinn commented as they made their way down the long driveway, Cara smoothly shifting the car into the proper gears.

"Unlike her, I prefer a more practical car, though the bikes might suggest otherwise."

"You own all of those?"

At the opening leading to the main road, Cara stopped and placed the car into first. Quinn didn't like the smile that slowly spread across the Mistress' face. She knew behind those shades, Cara's green eyes were dancing with mirth and mischief. Cara revved the GTI's engine.

"I like going fast."

o o o o o o o

"I don't see why you're looking at me like that," Cara commented while she perused the extensive menu.

Quinn scowled and continued to glare at the green-eyed woman. Her own menu lay in front of her drumming fingers.

"What? It's not like you're arriving in multiple, unidentifiable pieces at the hospital," the Mistress teased, waving a server to their window-side table. "I should think that would be the overriding positive point of your debate about whether to stop glaring at me or not."

"Good morning, ladies," greeted their server, a redheaded girl with pleasing blue eyes. "My name is Brie. Can I get any drinks or pastries prepared for you?"

"A cup of the house blend," answered Cara, smiling up at the young woman through her lashes. "And a hot chocolate for my friend." Quinn's brow twitched. "Make it more on the bitter side."

The redhead bit the inside of her mouth, her eyes downcast and cheeks tinted with an adorable pink flush. "Will that be all for you, Miss…?"

Cara took a deep breath, drawing the redhead's attention to her chest. "Cara." The girl's face nearly matched her hair. "And this," the blonde continued, "is Quinn." Hazel eyes darted between the Mistress and the young woman, recognizing Cara's seduction.

"Pleasure to meet you," Quinn greeted the redhead, finally understanding the situation.

"And you," the redhead whispered to Quinn though her gaze never left Cara's, her tone dripping with reverence. "I'll return with your drinks."

Cara sighed, her eyes gazing at their server's retreating figure. Quinn also watched the young woman slip behind the counter and noted that her figure had a rather appealing backside. Quinn leaned forward as she jested, "Ten says she'll try to get your number."

The Mistress canted an eyebrow and hummed. "Oh, she may try all she wants."

Quinn chuckled.

Brie returned, placing down two mugs the color of sunshine. Quinn watched as the redhead's blue eyes stayed glued on Cara, her hands expertly setting and arranging their napkins and the little dishes of cream and sugar.

"Tell me," Cara said as Brie left, "how is Noah doing? Santana and I haven't seen him in a while."

"He's fine. His work with S.F. State keeps him busy."

"And out of trouble?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes, and out of trouble."

Sipping her coffee, Cara continued, "He's the one who told you about us."

Another nod.

"Do you regret it?"

Quinn set her drink down, her eyes following it to the table. Did she regret it? Following Puck's out-of-left-field advice to be met with drop-dead gorgeous women laced down and up in skin-tight leathers and somehow run into the one woman in all the world Quinn thought she'd never see again. Did she regret it?

"I don't know."

Cara leaned forward, taking Quinn's hand in one of her own. Quinn noted, with surprise, the gentleness and strength with which Cara squeezed her hand, brushing a lightly calloused thumb across her knuckles. Quinn liked the warmth of Cara's hand, reminding her of the times Kurt had intertwined their fingers when Quinn was depressed or scared. Such genuinely comforting gestures had been few and far between before she'd left her hometown behind.

"Are you afraid?"

Quinn lifted her eyes, confused at the whispered question. "Afraid of what?"

"Of me, of everything I may represent and the one part of who I am." When Cara's voice was low and seductive, Quinn decided, it was impossible to not answer, even if that answer was false and forcibly ripped from your lips. There was no doubt this Mistress could break and subsequently command anyone.

"No," Quinn answered, eyes cast demurely downward, "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then what?"

"I'm afraid of becoming like you."

Tilting her head inquisitively, Cara leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. Quinn could see Cara becoming Mistress Cara. The cool, calculating gaze was telling. It also voiced the question that needed no words.

"I can't be like you. You're so confident and sure of things, of what you want."

"Most would be thrilled to have these qualities you see. Why fear them?"

Quinn shook her head. Cara didn't press her, knowing an immovable object when she saw one. The Mistress sighed. She would have to work better or, possibly, another angle to understand the blonde sitting across from her. Quinn Fabray was a bundle of secrets locked away so well under such emotional complexity that it would take Cara more than coffee dates to win Quinn's trust.

"I seemed to have crossed a line," Cara squeezed Quinn's hand. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Hazel eyes met green and noted that the Mistress had reverted back to Cara. "It's okay," Quinn assured the other blonde. "Kurt tells me I shouldn't bottle myself up so much."

"Who's Kurt?" Cara asked, glad for the opportunity to change topics.

Quinn grinned. "My gay husband."

An hour and a half later, along with nearly two rounds of coffee and hot chocolate and a few of Brie's amusing attempts to flirt with Cara, Quinn settled back in her chair, dabbing at the corners of her eyes to stem the mirth that had nearly gone over the edge. Cara only smirked.

"Quinn," the other blonde began.

"Hmm?" Quinn sipped at the last remains of her drink, peeking over the bright yellow of the mug's lip.

Cara's cool green eyes were locked on her, playfulness glinting behind the cold indifference. "Are you ready to go back? See me play the doting wife?"

Quinn smiled and nodded. "Just try to stay within twenty of the speed limit."

o o o o o o o

As Cara pulled into the enormous garage, Quinn noticed that the silver Benz was gone and that the blonde Mistress had parked next to a zippy-looking black sports car. Quinn didn't have much time to admire the sleek machine. Cara arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, hummed deep in her throat and began a rather fast trek out of the garage and toward the mansion.

Instead of going through the front entrance, however, Quinn fought to keep up with Cara as the Mistress led them around the mansion to a far end hidden behind baby redwoods and wrought iron fencing. Through the foliage, hazel eyes took in a modest lawn and stone driveway. The small two-story craftsman house matched the lawn in its simplicity, completely unlike the mansion that towered beside it. Quinn wondered how she never noticed it, how anyone **would** notice it.

As they entered, Quinn was about to inquire who lived there, but the question died on her lips when Cara tossed her keys in a dish on a nearby table and hung her jacket in a coat closet with such fluid and well-versed motions. Quinn fumbled with her cardigan as Cara walked deeper into the house, leaving the other blonde to take in her surroundings.

Quinn entered what she guessed to be the living room or family room. On the shelves, the fireplace mantel, the shiny black upright piano and along the hallway she'd walked through were various photos of Cara, a brunette with sky blue eyes, a rugged looking young man, an older man with long white hair and several attractive women who Quinn guessed were somehow affiliated with Cara's business. There were even a couple with Santana and that girl Brittany. There were a fair number of photos that Quinn recognized as significant from their placements around the room. At the center of the mantelpiece, a definite place of honor, was a photo of Cara with that blue-eyed brunette. The brunette was sitting on what looked like a sofa with Cara's arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind, both women looking at the camera. The woman was smiling. Cara had on her trademark smirk.

Quinn continued to study the candid photo. She remembered another time with a different blonde and brunette.

_Rachel struck a match in the darkness. Its flickering glow danced in the brown of her eyes. The moonlight cast pale silver tones in the living room, stretching dark shadows across the walls and along the carpeted floor. She lit a cluster of candles on the coffee table. Then, another cluster on an end table and more along the shelves._

_On the plush sofa, leaning back to let the cushions absorb her worries and to admire the soft, romantic glow of a dozen flames, the brunette felt slim arms wrap around her shoulders from behind. "Hi," a low, silky breath brushed just below her ear. The soft caress of even softer lips along her jaw sent a tremor of wanton need down to her toes._

_Rachel tilted her head back, sinking into the cushions even more as if trying to press herself against the blonde through the sofa. "Hey," Rachel whispered, closing her eyes._

"_Your hair's getting longer," Quinn softly observed. "It's almost as long as mine." Rachel loved it when Quinn played with her hair, scratching her sensitive scalp oh-so teasingly._

"_Mmm," the brunette quietly moaned. "Well, you know, this incredibly gorgeous woman once told me I would get more attention with longer hair. I have to concur. There's this blonde bombshell that can't seem to take her eyes—or hands or lips—off me."_

"_Bombshell, you say," Quinn huffed, nipping at Rachel's exposed neck._

_Rachel slowly turned around, keeping Quinn's arms on her shoulders, and ran her nails up the blonde's hips and under the hem of her shirt._

"_Oh, yeah," the brunette growled, grabbing the back of Quinn's neck, bringing their lips so close she could count the lashes obscuring her view of Quinn's hazel eyes. "She makes me hit those high notes."_

"There you are." Quinn whirled around to find Cara, a hand placed lightly on a canted hip. "Come. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

She followed Cara farther down the hall and into the kitchen. The light streamed in from the tall bay window, delightfully illuminating the marble counters, wooden cabinets and floor, the bright silver and copper of pots and pans. The warmth of the room failed to welcome Quinn as wonderfully as the woman preparing a myriad of vegetables at the island counter. Quinn recognized the woman as the same brunette pictured with Cara.

Her white peasant top, with its flowing sleeves and lacy texture, made her glow like some magical woman out of a fantasy. When the brunette looked up from her work, Quinn had to suppress a gasp. She was stunning, holding Quinn still with the intensity of her piercing blue eyes. The blonde was sure this woman could stop anyone, maybe even tip the world on its axis, just for a moment with that gaze.

The brunette dashed all of Quinn's uneasiness with her brilliant smile that seemed to reach and radiate through her eyes. "Hi," she greeted, extending her hand. "I'm Kahlan."

"Quinn." The blonde shook the offered hand. The strength and gentleness that she'd felt with Cara was also to be found in Kahlan's touch.

"It's wonderful to meet you. Cara told me that we might have a guest. I'm sorry I wasn't able to join earlier. I wanted to pick up a few things for our lunch." Quinn shook her head, waving off the apology. "I hope my wife behaved herself."

Cara snorted, taking over food preparation.

Kahland quirked an eyebrow, asking Quinn with her eyes.

"Other than a need for speed and subjecting a poor girl to a stuttering mess, she was perfect."

"Well, that's good to hear," the brunette chuckled. "Quinn, would you like anything to drink? I picked up some wine."

"Water will be fine. Thank you."

"So," Kahlan said, moving about the drawers and refrigerator to pour their drinks, "I understand Santana and one of Cara's new recruits were the cause for some discomfort."

Quinn merely nodded her head and accepted the tall glass of water.

"No lively chitchat, Kahlan?" Cara teased. "Social graces usually demand at least one round of beating around the bush."

"Oh, but, Honey, I thought you liked it when I left the beating to you?"

Quinn smirked at Cara's narrowed eyes. "How long have you two been together?"

Cara grunted. "Ball and chain for almost ten years."

The brunette came up behind her wife. "Again, I'll leave the chains and bondage to you." Quinn watched as Kahlan's hand trailed down Cara's side before disappearing behind the counter. Cara's furrowed brow was the only indication that something was happening.

"Kahlan," the green-eyed Mistress hissed.

Quinn giggled.

"Anyway," the brunette circled the island counter coming to stand beside Quinn, "what it is that brings you here?"

"I've been told that I need to work on my love life, that I need to start seeing people again. I want to. I really do, but…" Quinn watched Cara at the stovetop from the corners of her eyes.

"But…?" Kahlan pushed.

It was funny, Quinn thought, how different she felt under each woman's gaze—one smoldering and the other summoning. Each drew her in, though they fell on separate points of the seduction spectrum. She could just imagine it—Cara literally whipping someone into devoting their existence to her, whereas Kahlan would disarm them with her charming smile and piercing blue eyes, perhaps a touch and they'd come undone. How they were able to cohabitate without tearing each other apart was something Quinn was sure she'd learn later in life. Quinn was sure that both women could have anyone catering to their beck and call. And right then, Kahlan wanted an answer and Quinn couldn't deny this Siren's song.

"I'm scared. I'm so scared of what wanting…or **needing**…this…might mean. Not just because of my friends or my job, but what I've known and believed in. I mean coming out felt impossible to do. I still feel like I'm coming out."

Kahlan smiled. "That's because you are."

"What?"

"Just because you come out about one way you identify doesn't mean there's no more possibilities for that to continue to change. This is just another coming out."

"God, how many more times is this going to happen?"

Kahlan lifted Quinn's chin to look into her eyes. "I don't know," the brunette answered honestly.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, Quinn turned away. She couldn't look into the other woman's gaze without wanting to confess everything that had happened, everything that she'd caused two years ago.

"Look, there are some things I'd rather not talk about," she snapped, immediately regretting her words when she got pinned with Kahlan's concerned eyes and Cara's sudden cease in movement. "Please, I want to know why I'm so afraid, why I'm even here in the first place."

"You said you were afraid of becoming like me," Cara said, her back to the two women as she tended to their food. "Afraid of confidence and your wants. Silly really."

"Cara," Kahlan admonished.

"What?" the Mistress shrugged. "You didn't marry me because I was weak."

"You know good and well why I married you," the brunette countered with her steely tone. "And we know that Quinn has to work through these feelings and issues if she is going to resolve whatever fears she has. This is about more than strength and weakness, Cara."

"Hmm," the Mistress agreed.

"Then what is…**this** about?" Quinn inquired.

"Power," Cara and Kahlan answered.

"Power?"

"Yes. Control and vulnerability."

"Control? Vulnerability?"

"Playing Parrot doesn't suit you, Quinn," Cara sniped.

"Cara," Kahlan scolded again. The brunette touched Quinn's arm, drawing hazel eyes to blue. "Quinn, what Cara and I are trying to tell you is that power comes in all forms, both tangible and otherwise. Everyone draws power from something—talents, skills, looks, wealth, people. Anything. Sometimes, we lose that power and not always because it's taken by another. Rather, we give it up, toss it away and forget when and where we lost it."

"And if the source is gone?"

"Your power is like your love. There is no finite amount. If your source was a person and that person died or you were cut off from each other, then that doesn't mean your power is gone. You still have your memories, your image and understanding of that person. A source is never truly lost, only our path to it."

"Is that what you call what you do in that mansion?" Quinn huffed, turning her gaze on the other blonde. "All that spanking and tying people up? Power?"

Kahlan moved to the stovetop. "What Cara does in that mansion **is** about power, but it's just one physical manifestation of power."

Cara stood in front of Quinn. "Remember what I told you? That there is a control in submission just as there is a vulnerability in domination?"

"Yes, you said that Subs are not slaves." Quinn shook her head, crossing her arms. "I don't see the point."

The Mistress smiled. "Fear of being confident, of having control, is normal, which is why there are fewer people in charge than there are people who are being ordered around. What would happen if you were just one of ten assistant directors in that gallery of yours, all of you ordering around the same ten people?"

Quinn snorted. "It would be chaos. We'd never agree on anything."

"And not anyone can be in charge, right?"

A nod.

"Because the person in charge has to be able to handle the responsibilities, the pressure and the stress of any consequences. As a Mistress, I understand the needs and limits of those I dominate. I have to open myself up to their emotions and their pain and take it upon myself to turn it into something good and pleasurable. They have to be able to trust me. I need to be able to trust them to understand their own limits. We work together to understand those needs and wants and limits."

Kahlan took Quinn's hands in hers. The blonde could feel the warmth spread throughout her body as those hands gripped hers with such tenderness. Kahlan's blue eyes beckoned her. Quinn couldn't help the shiver that rippled along her spine and the dull aching tug that pulled her from the inside out.

"I'd like us to help you find the path to your source again. Along the way, I hope you'll trust us enough to tell us what happened to you that caused you to lose your way."

"It's horrible," Quinn sighed. "I'm not sure if I even deserve to get what I **need**. Forget about what I **want**."

"Set up a session with Santana," the brunette barely whispered. "Maybe one day soon, you'll find your power. And when you do find that power, let it give you the strength to open yourself up to the one thing…or person…you need the most."

o o o o o o o

Kurt squared his shoulders and made his way down the hallway toward his roommate's bedroom. The stark white door never seemed so ominous before. He stepped quietly and leisurely, trying to form his words. The first sentence kept hanging him up. There was no graceful way to ask about your roommate's coffee and lunch date with a leather-clad dominatrix.

Turning on his heel, Kurt made his way back to his room. Nearly half an hour later, he was rooted to that same spot in front of Quinn's door. He'd traded in his vintage—vintage, damn it…not old—outfit for the soft comfort of cotton-polyester-blend pants and his favorite N.Y.U. shirt. Girl talk was done better in sleepwear, he reasoned.

"C'mon," he mumbled to himself, "You played football for Gucci's sake!"

Another minute ticked away.

He heaved a sigh. "Quinn?" Kurt called out, softly knocking.

No answer.

"Quinn?" He tried the handle. It was unlocked. "Are you okay?" Kurt poked his head in.

She was awake. With her back to the door, the blonde was in her too-small boxers and faded Cal shirt, sitting at the far edge of the bed. Kurt couldn't see her face, but her gaze was tilted down to her lap.

"I've got a session in two weeks."

Kurt nodded, though she couldn't see him. "I know. I saw the calendar."

"Good. Just thought you should know."

He approached her, taking tentative steps. "Is there anything else I should know?"

Quinn stared at the small object resting on her right knee. Even in the dim light of her room, it twinkled and sparkled as if the darkness that surrounded its history meant nothing. She swallowed, wishing on the little star-like object that she could swallow and get through her guilt just as easily. But there were no wishes to be made and fulfilled tonight. Quinn felt a tear escape and had almost hidden **it** when she heard Kurt gasp.

There, nestled in white silk cushions and contained in the small telltale black velvet box, winked the clear-cut facets of a simple but painfully beautiful diamond ring.

**End of Part Three**

Season Two! I've been having a serious case of Pinoy and Charice pride these last few days. This is due to the fact that I am a Filipina named Cherise. Seriously. Of course, I'm a half-foot taller with (maybe) a tenth of her vocal talent…but I can dance and act! Ooh, pick me! Pick me!

****crashes into her own motorcycle****

Anyway, thanks for reading! Leave reviews! '^^


	4. Mistress Santana

**Author's Note:** Please forgive me for not updating in such a long time. A full-time job and family emergency over the holidays kept me from being able to commit energy and more time to writing. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy.

**Warning**: This chapter includes consensual play between two adult women and other mature themes. As if you didn't already know.

**Concede**

Part Four: Mistress Santana

o o o o o o o

"Please," Kurt begged, kneeling beside Quinn as she stared at the ring. "Please stop doing this to yourself."

"I can't stop," she sobbed. "If I do, it'll be like everything he did was for nothing. It's my fault! Nothing would have happened if I—"

"Quinn!"

Her body shook and trembled, a dam under the pressure of a growing emotional wave. The sharply cut facets of the diamond blurred behind her tears, though the shine and sparkle only seemed to intensify. Quinn closed her eyes, but it did nothing to ease her pain or alleviate her guilt and sadness.

"I'm sorry, Kurt."

"Don't be," he replied, rubbing small circles on the backs of her hands. "Maybe you should reconsider those sessions. What about a therapist?"

"Remember how the last one went?" she huffed.

Kurt chuckled and Quinn dared to look into his bright eyes. "Well, I guess we know to check credentials, especially in Lima, Ohio. Of course, I'd hope San Francisco would be more on top of things like letting unqualified people open a psychological practice."

Quinn smirked. "Terri just helped in sealing the deal on leaving."

"It's still a small world," he commented. "Who would've thought we'd run into her ex-husband?"

"**And** that he would be my boss?"

The two roommates shook with laughter as they continued to reminisce, bringing up memories—both happy and sad but always with fondness—until Kurt announced that the sun would be rising in only a few hours.

"Quinn, darling," Kurt's voice tugged at her heartstrings. "Let's get you to bed, okay."

She nodded. "Don't you mean so you can get your beauty sleep?"

He smiled and yawned dramatically. "I don't care if it's the weekend. Creativity comes out best when I've had my good night's sleep."

Kurt picked up the ring from her bedside table and snapped the velvet box shut. Quinn shuddered. The dam was reinforced again and she took a shaky breath, opening her eyes to watch her roommate return the ring to the safe hidden away beneath her desk. The sound of the safe closing, so much like a prison cell door slamming into place, was a relief and Quinn released the breath she'd been holding.

Later, after Kurt had tucked her in with a lullaby and a kiss to her cheek, Quinn thought back to her day with Cara and Kahlan. The couple had been so patient and gentle with their words; even Cara who would have had a field day with her sarcasm, had held her sharp tongue. Quinn smiled thinking of the whipped Mistress. Cara and Kahlan certainly made a dynamic couple, opposites in nearly every aspect except their devotion to each other.

Quinn felt that little ache in her chest again, the slow burning yearn for familiarity and comfort. She had it all—a great career, great body, great apartment and even greater friends—but she knew there was one piece that still needed to be put in place. Quinn rolled onto her side, clutching a pillow to her chest, recalling moments when she had once clutched a warm body to her instead. She sighed.

She knew, felt it even, that the connection she'd shared was exceedingly rare, that the love she and Rachel once had was once-in-a-lifetime. Indeed, it was great; and, Quinn thought as a tear escaped, she might never have it again.

o o o o o o o

"You're sure, Rachel?" Cara asked from behind her desk, sliding the letter back into its envelope. "Quinn will be having a session with Santana soon."

"I'm one-hundred percent positive," the brunette answered. "My being here will only further hurt her."

"If we could convince her to talk to you, so you can tell her why you're here, then wouldn't it be worth it to give her that opportunity?"

Rachel shook her head. "This place, on top of our history together, is too much for her right now."

The blonde Mistress studied the brunette for a moment. "It is a shame that you are withdrawing your desire to work here, Rachel. You would've made a fine addition to our staff."

"Thank you, but I need to talk to her on her terms and in her time. Quinn is still like a frightened doe. She'll bolt the moment she senses any sort of threat."

Cara couldn't disagree with Rachel's assessment of the young assistant. She and Kahlan were lucky in getting Quinn to make an appointment for a play session. Even after lunch, Cara could tell that they'd only wiped the dust off the surface of Quinn's mind. She and her wife had spent the remainder of the day discussing and throwing out theories about what Quinn was hiding.

"I didn't think you'd be so open to talking about what happened between the two of you."

"I want her to be happy," Rachel replied.

"She's so broken, Rachel. There's more to her story and I wish she was be able to confront whatever it is that's sent her so far into herself."

"I wish I knew what it was."

The blonde sighed and allowed her rigid body to sink into the leather chair, a behavior she'd never show around clients or other Mistresses. "Do you think she'll open up after a couple of sessions?"

Rachel shrugged. "Honestly, I believe it'll get much worse before it gets better. It will be a long road toward her recovery. She hasn't loved herself in a very long time, Cara."

o o o o o o o

"_Good afternoon. Commercial Sales and Rentals. Accounting."_

_Quinn swiveled in her chair as she plucked a green folder from the dozens that filled her various desk organizers. Opening it to the necessary documents, she clacked away at her computer before nodding approvingly. "Yes, we're bidding for that job. You, too. Good-bye."_

_Checking the clock just above her desk, Quinn sighed. Although their lunch break seemed long past, there were still two hours left until she could punch-out for the day and, she reminded herself, the rest of the week. It was Friday and not only was it payday, but the last night Kurt would be in town. She and Puck had promised him dinner and a fun night. Well, as fun of a night as one could get in Lima._

_Two hours and five minutes later, Quinn wondered if any of the guys in the showroom noticed the skip in her step as she walked from the office to her car. Spending time with Kurt and Puck had become the highlights of her days since moving back home from college. Quinn waved at a co-worker whose name she could never remember as she pulled out of the parking lot._

"_Hi, Mr. Hummel!"_

"_Hey, Quinn," the mechanic greeted as the blonde walked into the shop office. "How're you doing?"_

_She shook his hand after he'd wiped it on an already grease-stained rag. "Just happy that the week is over. You don't mind that I'm taking away your two best boys?"_

"_Nah," he said. "There's a game I wanna watch at home. Puck might grumble, but I know he's got a soft spot for pretty girls."_

_Quinn giggled. "Such a charmer, Mr. Hummel."_

"_I try."_

"_Are you sure you won't join us? At least for dinner?"_

_Burt shook his head and smiled. "You guys just go out and have fun. Who knows when will be the next time you'll see each other? I'm always gonna be here for Kurt if he ever comes back."_

"_Okay," she conceded._

"_All right," he readjusted his cap. "I'll get 'em out here for you." The mechanic left, leaving Quinn to wait and look around._

"_Hey, 'sup, Blondie? Ow! Geez…" Turning around, Quinn smirked as she watched Puck rub his shoulder and Kurt walked past him to hug her._

"_Hello, Quinn. Don't mind the Neanderthal. He banged his head a few times in the garage."_

"_Dude, I only started a month ago. Cleaning pools shirtless makes me more magnetic and impressive to the ladies than this," the mohawked man said, gesturing to their attire._

_Both young men were still wearing their stained navy blue coveralls. Amazingly, Kurt appeared at ease in the outfit despite his disheveled and tired appearance. Puck, on the other hand, despite his self-proclaimed badass reputation looked like he wanted to rip the garment off. Quinn nearly laughed at the irony of Kurt not caring about his clothes and Puck complaining about it._

"_Are you ready to paint the town?" asked Quinn._

_Kurt rolled his eyes. "First, we," he gestured between him and Puck, "need to get changed. Do you mind taking us back to my place before we have dinner?"_

o o o o o o o

Quinn looked around the elaborate room. Its décor and ambiance were comparable to the room in which she'd watched Santana and Rachel have their session. The downpour outside made her grateful for the heat and warmth that suffused the room, especially because she was dressed only in her finest lingerie—garter belt and teddy, too—and a silk robe that Brittany had left for her.

"_Don't tell her I said this, but Santana is, by far, the best Mistress to have come through here. Don't let her immediate attitude fool you. She is capable of great compassion and I've never met someone so adept at introducing novices to playing."_

For the past couple of weeks, Quinn had read through the folder of papers that Cara had given to her during their first meeting. On a few occasions, Kurt had found her blushing from the tips of her ears down her neck with her eyes bugging out of their sockets. Surprisingly, her roommate had been extremely supportive and he had even helped her go shopping for her sexy ensemble for that day.

"_Whatever is sexy to you, wear it or bring it with you," the Mistress had instructed._

A knock at the door startled her. Quinn managed to croak, "Come in."

Brittany, dressed exactly like she had that first day, stepped in and quickly shut the door. Gesturing for Quinn to sit, Brittany took the other available space on the loveseat. "There are a couple of ground rules that we need to go over before your play session." Quinn nodded and Brittany continued. "First, you and Mistress Santana will set a safe word. Do your best not to abuse or misuse it. Once your session is over, you and Mistress Santana will discuss your session and you'll have the opportunity to schedule another…if that's what you want. Second, be honest with yourself and with your Mistress. She can't read your mind and may not be able to tell you're not enjoying something if you don't say anything."

The blue-eyed blonde stood up. "Are you ready?"

"That's it?" Quinn prodded. "What am I supposed to make of all this?"

"I just do what the Mistress tells me." Brittany cocked her head as she held Quinn's eyes. "I find thinking to be confusing. Just feel."

With that, the taller girl left Quinn to stew on her words. She didn't have much time to ponder. Santana, dressed in a dark power suit and heels, strutted into the room. Her long black hair was tightly pulled up in a high ponytail, the ends tickling her upper back. Quinn couldn't find the gall to look up into the Latina's eyes. Everything about the dark Mistress oozed confidence and strength, from her finely tailored suit to the power she commanded even through silence.

The blonde jumped up and leveled her gaze with the flawless complexion of Santana's neck. Quinn nearly jumped out of her skin when the Mistress tilted Quinn's chin up to meet her dark brown eyes. Santana spoke in low whispers. _Like a lover_, Quinn observed. "I'd like very much to give you a massage. Will you give me that pleasure?"

The sincerity in Santana's voice only made Quinn's heart race harder. She was being so gentle with her, Quinn wanted to kiss her. The blonde blinked rapidly to dispel the thought of kissing the beautiful dark-haired woman, of running her tongue along those tantalizing lips. Unable to find her voice, Quinn nodded once.

The Mistress ran her hand down the column of Quinn's neck, along her shoulder and dropped to take her hand. She led her toward the bed, never breaking their gaze. "What shall our safe word be?" Santana stopped just before the backs of her knees hit the bed. She rubbed gentle circles on the back of Quinn's hand with her thumb.

"I don't know," the blonde answered honestly.

"It's okay," Santana reassured her. "We'll find one for you eventually. For now, how about the word 'red'?"

"Red," Quinn tried the word. "Like a stoplight."

"Exactly."

"Okay," she agreed. "Red is our safe word."

Santana stepped around Quinn, facing her back. The blonde felt two warm and strong hands come to rest on her hips and a voice speak softly in her ear. "From now on, when you address me, call me Mistress or Mistress Santana. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Quinn answered.

"Yes…?"

"Mistress."

"Very good, Quinn. Now," the Mistress drew her palms up and down her back, "let's see if I can get you to relax."

Quinn focused on the texture of the comforter as the Latina's hands ran up and down her sides and traversed the covered expanse of her back and shoulders. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched her so intimately. Santana's roaming touches felt nice, reminding her of the significant difference between imagining a touch and actually feeling it. Quinn lolled her head forward and to the side as the Mistress' nails and fingertips raked around the area where her neck met her shoulders. Tingles and small shivers erupted from her scalp to her hips.

"How does this feel, Quinn?" Santana's full lips tickled the back of her neck. "Tell me how it feels."

The blonde gasped when Santana entangled her fingers in Quinn's hair, massaging the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. "It's nice…Mistress." She felt the Latina remove the clip that kept her hair partially up. Her gently curled hair brushed along her shoulder blades before Santana swept it to the side in order to knead the tense muscles.

Santana worked out the knots as best she could, alternating between the hard digs of her knuckles and broad, deep strokes of her thumbs and fingers. Quinn didn't realize she'd been panting and gasping so loudly until a particularly forceful rub drew a whimper-like moan from her lips. Hazel eyes snapped open and Quinn felt her face flush with heat. She also realized her robe had fallen off a shoulder, exposing half of her back and front.

The dark-haired Mistress felt Quinn's tension return. Hiding her annoyance, Santana turned her blonde client to face her. "You shouldn't hide yourself from me, Quinn."

Quinn bit her bottom lip and glanced down at the loose knot holding her robe together, then back up at the Mistress.

"I'd like to see more."

Santana stepped back from the blonde and placed her hands on her hips. Quinn dared to look up into the intense and lust-filled gaze of the Mistress. Without looking away, the blonde slowly brought her hands up to her waist, fingers hovering over the silk folds. Quinn breathed deeply, the spiced and smoky scent of the Mistress reminding her of heat and something exotic. Lightly shaking fingers undid the knot and her robe fluttered open. As she brought her arms down to her sides, the silk garment slid from her body, caressing inch after inch of smooth skin as it pooled at her feet.

Quinn held her breath as Santana's dark eyes took her in, lingering here and there and her pink tongue darted out to swipe at her full red lips. From years of self-control, Santana mentally nodded her approval. Quinn was a sight to behold. The lacy jade green lingerie trimmed with black beautifully accented the dip and climb of the blonde's small but perky breasts, barely covered the flat stretch of her stomach and whispered over the teasing sight of hips tapering to the matching panty and garter belt. Soft-looking and well-sculpted legs extended and dainty feet were hidden under the pooled silk robe. Santana swallowed as subtly as she could.

Coupled with her innocent and scared expression, Santana almost purred at the fact that Quinn would make a beautiful and heart-breaking pet. "You are…exquisite," the Mistress whispered.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Quinn grew apprehensive when Santana produced a blindfold from her jacket and held it up knowingly to her. The Mistress handed the blindfold to her. Although the gesture was meant to give her a choice, Quinn remembered what Brittany said. She'd said to just feel, to do as the Mistress said. Although Santana hadn't verbally given her an order, it felt wrong to deny this pleasure to Santana and even to herself, so Quinn slipped the blindfold over her eyes.

"Turn around," Santana gently ordered.

As Quinn did as Santana instructed, the blonde sensed the Mistress moving about the room. Suddenly, she felt hands pushing her forward and bringing her arms up to rest on the top of the bed. Quinn remembered this position. She'd put Rachel in it before.

"Be calm," Santana instructed Quinn. The blonde was breathing through her mouth, her head inclined in a defensive manner.

Quinn released a shaky breath as Santana began to knead to her arms and shoulders, getting her reacquainted with the Mistress' touch. Several minutes later, Quinn noticed the ache in her arms from holding herself up and began to lean forward. Quinn was surprised with herself. She was in quite a position of vulnerability. Was this the trust that Cara and Kahlan and even Brittany had mentioned? Did she trust Santana? She mentally snorted. She must trust the Latina to some degree to allow her to touch her in this manner.

"Mistress?" she uttered.

"Yes, Quinn?"

The blonde swallowed, unsure about whether or not she should even ask. "Does this bring you pleasure?"

One of Santana's hands glided over her back and over her backside to rest on her inner thigh. Quinn gasped at the sensation, heightened from her lack of vision. "Yes," came the breathy answer. "Yes, it does."

Quinn licked her lips. "What else would…Mistress?"

Santana hummed and smiled. "You…wet…and **wanting**."

The blonde felt her blush all the way down her neck. Quinn never knew such a simple sentence could get her turned on so quickly. She'd never engaged in any sort of dirty talk, not even something as mild as what Santana was saying. She clenched her fingers into fists, reason being steadily dominated by instinct and a primal urge. Before she could contemplate her change in thought, the Mistress commanded, "Lie on the bed and wait for me."

Quinn made her way across the bed on all fours, wondering what else Santana intended to do to her. Quinn heard something open and shut as she settled back into the large pillows. Without warning, silk touched and glided up her legs, making the blonde instinctively recoil from the sudden sensation. "Ssh," Santana soothed as she placed the item in Quinn's hand. The blonde recognized it as nothing more than a silk handkerchief.

Before Quinn could protest, the Mistress had quickly tied the blonde's wrists together above her head with the handkerchief. Quinn swallowed her apprehension, focusing on the cool, smooth caress of the handkerchief on her skin, the lush dip and give of the mattress and comforter beneath her and the heat radiating from the woman hovering above her.

_Just feel._

She did. Cold drops of liquid landed and ran down the length of her arms. Quinn clamped her teeth down, inhaling sharply through her nose. More cool droplets hit the warm exposed skin of her hands. Drops gently rained down on her lips, prompting Quinn to taste. Water. Muted clacks and tumbles beside her made Quinn want to giggle. The dark Mistress was using ice. It seemed almost silly to the blonde that something so simple and overlooked was bringing her into a whole new world of sensations.

Her train of thought was derailed when cold water sprinkled over her stomach, causing her to shudder and softly gasp. Santana's warm fingers swirled the drops into unknown patterns over her quivering muscles and traced the edges of her belly button. The Mistress palmed her sides and Quinn arched off the bed in response. Santana ran her nails from her neck, between her breasts, over the thin fabric of her lingerie and down her stomach; Quinn clenched her thighs in frustration. The blonde whimpered when the dark-haired woman ran an ice cube along the responsive flesh of her thighs and quickly warmed the chilled skin with her hot touches.

Time was of no consequence. Everything else ceased. Quinn knew nothing except her own breath, sensation and the anticipation of another's touch. The rest of the world fell away—her work, her irreparable relationships with her family, her past, the loss and gain throughout the years—as Santana continued to introduce her to simple moments of sensuality.

"Quinn," the Mistress whispered. "Are you wet?"

The quick rake of nails just above her clavicle momentarily halted her answer. "Yes, Mistress."

"Are you…" Fingers tangled in her hair, pulling painfully but—surprisingly—deliciously. "…wanting?"

A hand roughly squeezed her thigh just above her knee. In reaction, Quinn drew her leg up, trying to think through the sensory haze.

"Quinn, answer me." Santana's voice blew along the outer curve of her ear. Its husky and scratchy qualities only made Quinn gasp for needed air to give the Mistress her much expected answer.

"Yes," the blonde desperately breathed. "Yes, Mistress."

Quinn moaned appreciatively when Santana untied her wrists and ran the heated pads of her fingers down her wrists. Blood renewed its course through her veins, returning heat and increased feeling to her limbs. The Mistress' caress along her warming skin sent delightful tingles and shivers throughout her body. Immediately, Quinn felt her body seeking more. More of what?

_Who cares_, the blonde thought. _Just more_.

Quinn felt Santana lift the blindfold from over her eyes, the silk fabric sliding easily over her heated skin. A moment later, hazel eyes opened to take in the sight of the dark Mistress bringing glasses half filled with water to the bedside. The Mistress had removed her jacket and unbuttoned her metallic grey shirt, exposing toned bronze skin, a light sheen of perspiration highlighting the subtle curvature of her chest and stomach. Quinn licked her lips. Santana had worked hard to bring those feelings of Quinn's to surface.

"Slowly," the Mistress prompted, holding out the glass to Quinn.

Lust-filled brown never left grateful hazel as both women sipped the cool liquid, basking in and drinking their fill of each other's presence. Quinn set her emptied glass on the bedside table. "Thank you, Mistress."

Santana smirked as she edged closer to Quinn. "Oh, we're not finished yet, Q."

o o o o o o o

Rachel paced. Cara watched Rachel.

The brunette stopped to note the time. Cara did the same. Twenty-eight minutes left.

Rachel continued to pace. Cara fought a sigh and continued to watch Rachel.

Again, the brunette stopped to look at the clock. Twenty-eight minutes left. She growled. Cara smirked.

"Worried?"

Rachel didn't break her stride. "Absurdly so." She paused at the knock at the door.

"Come in," said Cara.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Cara," Brittany greeted and turned to the brunette. "Mistress Rachel."

"It's just Rachel, Brittany."

The tall blonde smiled and nodded in understanding. Rachel resumed pacing as Brittany set up the tray of tea on Cara's desk. Finished, Brittany turned to the brunette and canted her head to the side. "Are you worried, Rachel?"

"Is it that obvious?" Cara cocked an eyebrow. Brittany's indifferent expression was also telling. Rachel huffed indignantly, "Yes, I'm worried. Imagining Quinn being…**handled** by Santana is difficult, especially after the few sessions I've had with her as both Mistress and Pet. I, for one, believe any of the other Mistresses would've made Quinn's transition into playing a much easier and pleasant experience."

"We've been over this, Rachel," Cara replied, reclining into her leather chair.

"But can't you understand why I'm fretting so? Quinn is extremely fragile and I just want to be sure that Santana knows to be as gentle as possible."

Cara fought to keep from thumping her fist on her desk. It wouldn't do to have the head Mistress lose her composure just because one woman had been pacing and muttering her complaints in Cara's office for nearly an hour. "Rachel, I've spoken with Santana at length about all of your concerns. She is an exceptional Mistress. You know I don't hand out compliments lightly or without good reason."

"Yes, I know, but—"

"There are no buts about this." Cara stood, voice laced dangerously with simmering clout and power. "Or are you questioning my judgment, Rachel? Perhaps I should reconsider even having Quinn as a client? Shall I send her to Trianna?"

Instantly, Rachel lowered and fixed her gaze on the red leather of Cara's collar. The brunette shook her head.

"Would recommending Miss Fabray to Dahlia please you?"

Again, the brunette shook her head in response. Uneasiness settled heavily upon Rachel's shoulders as Cara approached her. The blonde began to circle her and Rachel knew her impatience had brought her here, to the edge of Cara's good graces. The drop from them looked particularly precarious.

The Mistress slowly barely pressed against Rachel's side, a test and show of her dominance to invade the shorter woman's space. Rachel closed her eyes when Cara hissed just beside her ear, "If it shall alleviate your fears, then I will walk down that hall to stop Quinn's session without hesitation and have her contact Denna for future playing."

Brittany gasped from her place next to Cara's desk.

"Tell me, Rachel," Cara continued, "who shall it be—any of those other Mistresses or me?"

"You, Mistress Cara."

The Mistress removed herself from the brunette's space and Rachel let herself relax a little. Only a little. Those waves of power were still rippling off Cara's leather-clad frame. "Relax," Cara spoke gently. "Sit, Rachel."

Rachel dared to look up into Cara's dark green gaze. A small twitch of the blonde's lips was her signal that she hadn't pissed off the Mistress past the point of no return, so Rachel sank into one of the armchairs in front of the desk. "I'm sorry, Cara."

"It's fine, Rachel. Apology accepted."

"Will you at least tell me why you chose Santana?"

The blonde leaned against her desk. "When Quinn first entered my office, I pegged her as a Submissive. She was so quick to fulfill a request and her body language was so demure. She was so easy to tease and I was almost careless enough to hand her over to any of our staff, but the way she reacted when she saw you got me wondering. Kahlan suggested inviting her for lunch and that perhaps some important truth was missing. She suspects something more than an abusive past or religious brainwashing took place and my wife is almost always right. Not too long ago, you gave me another piece of the puzzle. Something is still missing, Rachel. I don't know what exactly."

Cara sipped her tea and took a moment to savor the warm flavor.

"From the little I've learned about Quinn, she has great potential to be both Submissive and Mistress. I chose Santana for these reasons. Santana can be extremely brash and unforgiving and that has a lot to do with her own experiences; but, due to those circumstances, she has an amazing gentleness and care about her. She and Quinn can learn from each other."

"I agree with Mistress Cara," Brittany piped up, looking up to meet only Rachel's gaze.

"You're sure?" Rachel asked the blue-eyed woman.

"I promise you," Brittany said, "that Quinn is in good hands."

Rachel glanced at the clock. The two blondes did the same. Eighteen minutes left.

o o o o o o o

Quinn hissed. She squeezed her eyes closed and wondered if her nails had broken the skin of her palms as pain blossomed from the numbing spot at the back of her thigh.

"Elbows on the desk, Quinn."

The blonde dropped her elbows back down on the dark-stained wooden desk, readjusting her weight on her legs. "Yes, Mistress."

The Mistress assessed her Submissive's sweat slicked shoulders and back, the tense set of her neck and quick breathing. Quinn flinched at the soft touch having expected another stinging blow. Santana licked her lips as she watched Quinn shifted from one foot to the other, her reddened backside contrasting prettily with the jade green of her lingerie.

Quinn barely felt the Latina hook her fingers under the band of her panties and slip them partially down her legs, exposing more of her backside. Fingers caressed warmed skin and she whimpered. Santana's indifferent gaze flickered between Quinn's reddened bottom to her lightly shaking shoulders and the Mistress allowed herself a tiny glimmer of happiness to flicker in her brown eyes. It was time to push her.

An instant later, Quinn ground her teeth to keep from letting out a small cry. She grunted when a second spanking immediately followed. Santana removed her free hand from where it was caressing Quinn's hip. The less expectancy the blonde had, the better.

With even greater force, Santana brought both hands down. "Nnn-uugh…" Quinn didn't even realized the strangled groan had left her lips.

"That's it," the Mistress encouraged, tenderly stroking Quinn's tense shoulders, "Cry for me, baby."

"Yes," Quinn gasped. The blonde was in a daze. What else mattered save pleasing her Mistress?

_Smack_! "Yes?"

"Ah! Mistress!" Another resonating spanking. "Yes, Mistress!"

"Such a pretty bottom." Santana gently kneaded the smooth, hot flesh and gave it a quick series of spanks, which caused Quinn to hiss and whine. "It responds to my touch so well." Quinn barely comprehended the words, merely reacting to the constantly changing touches.

An exceptionally hard slap forced Quinn to stand up. It earned her another doubled-handed blow and a barked order. "Elbows down!"

The blonde obeyed. Another spanking. "You're forgetting something!"

"Yes, Mistress," she heaved.

Quinn heard Santana sigh dramatically. "Such a disobedient girl. I wonder if passing you along to another Mistress will spare me any trouble."

"Please…"

Santana struck her again. "Please what?"

Quinn debated about answering for a second, but a second was all it took to wear out Santana's patience.

"Please what?" asked the Mistress.

"Please, Mistress," Quinn whimpered, tears building in her eyes. Moments of a bright brown gaze and cheerful smile flashed in her mind, confusing her with the sternness of the woman behind her. The thought of another Mistress—no matter how talented—touching her in this way scared her beyond belief, but Quinn couldn't fathom why. "I don't want…anyone else."

Santana hummed, but her cold, calculating look never left her face. "Endearing, but, unfortunately for you, it's about what **would**…**please**…**me**." The last three words were punctuated with three strong spankings.

"Oh! Mis—ah!" Quinn jerked away from the Latina, again rising from her bent-over position.

"I said to keep your elbows down!"

"Please!" the blonde cried out, but kept her forearms pressed against the desk.

"_Please, Quinn. Concede! Let me take care of you!"_

"You keep saying 'please', but I don't know what you're begging for." Santana steadied herself, trying to find that one thing—word or action—that would allow Quinn to finally let go. "Maybe," the Mistress said coyly, "you want me to stop?"

"No!" Quinn exclaimed. "Aaah!" Santana nearly cringed at the sound she had drawn from Quinn. The blonde dropped her forehead on the desk. Her knuckles had paled with the needed strength to keep her forearms down. "I mean…no…no, Mistress."

"You love this, don't you?" Santana whispered, trailing her fingers down Quinn's neck and shoulder.

"_Oh, Quinn…I love you," that voice whispered against the sensitive skin of her neck. "You and only you."_ Quinn opened her eyes, frantically trying to push the memories from the forefront of her mind.

"I asked you a question, Quinn." The Mistress raked her nails up Quinn's neck again, tangled her hair in blonde waves and pulled firmly and steadily.

Santana noted Quinn's rapid breathing. She was getting close. The Latina knew she was a few minutes past the end of their session, but she couldn't stop now. Not when Quinn was so close. The light click of a door opening and closing momentarily distracted her. Cara's green gaze was difficult to read, but the blonde Mistress' curt nod was not.

"_Your hair's getting longer," Quinn softly observed. "It's almost as long as mine."_

"No." Quinn sobbed, gaining the attention of both Mistresses. "No!"

When Santana reached out to stroke Quinn's shoulder, Cara's sharp inhale and narrowed gaze prompted her to give Quinn a quick smack.

Quinn felt her Mistress' hand drag along her back, which only served to remind her of stolen moments at parties behind locked bathroom doors and candescent meetings in the darkness of theaters. "No…please…" she choked out. Tears stung at the back of her hazel eyes.

"_Wait for me. I'll be back before you know it." She looked up into his boyish features and couldn't help but imagine another._

"Please! Stop! Don't!" Quinn buried her face in her arms. Her shoulders heaved with the exertion of gasping for breath.

Santana ignored Cara's pointed look and moved to Quinn's side. "Quinn?"

"_I love you, Quinn."_

"Quinn?"

"_You and only you."_

"Quinn? **Quinn**?"

"_Quinn_…"

"Rr…"

"_How __**dare**__ you wear this and his ring!"_

"No…" she whispered. "Stop."

Cara uncrossed her arms and stepped closer to the two brunettes. Glancing over at the sudden movement, the dark-haired Mistress growled, baring her teeth. She refused to have even the head Mistress interfere in her session. She would be the one to get Quinn to let go. No one else would top her.

"Please…don't…"

Santana drew her hand back and held her breath.

"_Quinn_!"

"**Rach**…**Rachel**!"

o o o o o o o

"_Karaoke? That's what you had in mind for fun?" Puck snorted as they entered the bar._

"_Were you expecting a giant rave with dozens of scantily clothed, half drunk girls grinding on you?" Kurt crossed his arms and leaned against the bar before ordering a fruity mixed drink._

"_Something like that," mumbled Puck._

"_Well, that wouldn't have been very fun for me or Kurt," the blonde explained. "Since we all were in our schools' glee clubs, I thought this would cater to everyone."_

"_And if we get exceedingly drunk, my dad doesn't have to drive too far to pick us up."_

_Puck shrugged as the bartender placed a beer in front of him._

"_What can I get you, sweetheart?" the bartender, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and hawk-like eyes, asked Quinn._

_Quinn shifted her feet a little, unfamiliar with alcohol. "Whatever he's having," she pointed at Kurt. When the woman went about pulling bottles from behind her, the blonde turned to Kurt. "What __**are**__ you having?"_

"_Lemon Drop with a squirt of strawberry flavoring. Don't drink it too fast."_

"_Why not?" she asked when the pretty drink was placed before her._

"_The vodka is subtle."_

"_Oh," she croaked, still uncertain about what that meant. A sip later and Quinn's eyes lit up. Kurt was crazy if he thought she should drink it slowly. She offered it to Puck who was already ordering a second beer._

"_Sorry, babe," he shook his head. "Beer before liquor makes you sicker."_

_A few hours, five Lemon Drops, four beers and two rounds of tequila shots later, the three amigos were on stage, belting out their drunken yet enthusiastic rendition of _Say A Little Prayer_. A few crowd members even joined in for the chorus._

"_Whoo," Puck crowed as they returned to their seats at the bar, a wide grin plastered on his face._

"_Whoo indeed," agreed Kurt._

_Quinn just sighed happily. "So, Puck, despite not being able to pick up any girls, this isn't such a bad way to spend the night, huh?"_

_The mohawked man lazily turned to face her, a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but his gaze shifted from her face to somewhere over her shoulder. Quinn and Kurt swiveled on their stools to find the poor targeted soul. Kurt just rolled his eyes and returned to his drink. Quinn, however, felt her heart stop and restart. Although she stood a few inches shorter than Quinn, the young woman who had attracted Puck's attention seemed to stand out from the rest of the crowd._

_The woman's dark hair looked like something out of a fashion magazine, the back cropped short while the rest was cut to almost parallel the sharp angle of her jaw and straight bangs helped to frame her dark brown eyes. Even her clothes seemed out of place in a small town bar. Immediately, Quinn looked down at her baby doll dress and cardigan, wondering if she could pull off such a chic ensemble. The blonde figured the woman's car had broken down, but the notion was squashed when the brunette smiled and shared a brief hug with someone. A shot of envy spiked through Quinn._

"_Heeey!" Puck yelled, pointing at the brunette. "Hot Jew in the house!"_

_Quinn glanced at Kurt who seemed bored with the situation. Puck shot out of his seat and strutted over to the woman who squealed and launched herself at him. Puck just picked her up and twirled her around twice. They shared a few words before Quinn saw Puck gesture toward her and Kurt._

_Taking a long sip of her Lemon Drop for courage, Quinn stood to meet their fourth wheel. She smacked Kurt to get him to do the same._

"_Hey guys, guess who I found," Puck smiled as he brought his arm around the woman's shoulders._

"_Look what the summer brought in," Kurt slurred. "I thought you said you'd never come back here."_

_The woman huffed. "I came back because my papa isn't doing so well and Daddy had to almost beg me to visit after four years of New York vacations twice a year. Plus, I'm in between jobs at the moment, so it all fit into my schedule."_

"_Figures you'd make it all about you," Kurt snapped._

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude." Puck shook his head, bringing the woman closer to him. "Just wanted Quinn to meet her."_

"_Whatever," he replied, throwing back the rest of his drink._

"_Anyway," Puck continued. "Quinn, this is Rachel. Rachel, Quinn."_

"_Hi," the blonde greeted, shaking Rachel's extended hand. "Nice to meet you."_

"_Likewise," Rachel countered._

"_How do the three of you know each other?"_

_Rachel began before Puck could even get his mouth halfway open. "We all grew up together and joined glee club at McKinley together. Of course, Kurt's behavior tonight indicates that while we've all known each other a long time, we're not quite friends…yet. I, for one, like to think of us as lifelong acquaintances who border on becoming friends."_

"_I see."_

"_Noah and I, however, dated for a very brief time. He also helped me through a lot of hardships that perhaps would drive anyone in Lima to insanity or, at the very least, to another city. That's really what happened to me, you see. The day after graduation, I moved to New York City to attend Julliard and—"_

"_Let me ask you something, Rachel," Kurt interrupted. "Do you __**ever**__ shut up?"_

_Quinn bit back a giggle at Rachel's flabbergasted expression. The blonde reasoned that the brunette was probably one of the small handfuls of people who had made it out of Lima. Confidence and stubbornness rolled off the shorter woman in waves, catalyzing Quinn's theories of who exactly this Rachel was._

"_I'll be nice if you will, Kurt," Quinn whispered in his ear as Rachel began a long-winded speech. "I have a feeling she and I won't be getting along."_

o o o o o o o

Santana waited in an armchair in Cara's office. She'd redone her hair and exchanged her sweat-dampened dress shirt for her usual black leathers. Immediately following Quinn's outburst, Cara had departed. Santana presumed she'd left to persuade Berry on another course of action seeing as the shorter woman had practically threatened Santana with bodily harm should she hurt Quinn. The Latina fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Whatever," she muttered, re-crossing her legs.

A timid knock sounded. "Come in," the Latina called, standing to greet her client.

Quinn looked up from her place just inside the door. Her lingerie had been replaced with red skinny jeans and a fairly conservative white blouse. Black ballet flats and a matching pea coat clutched in both arms completed her outfit. Santana couldn't help but wonder when leather would slowly begin to replace various pieces of the blonde's wardrobe. The Latina shuddered at the thought of Quinn in a Mistress' leathers.

Santana offered the other woman a rare smile.

Quinn replied with a shy smile of her own. "Mistress Santana."

"Please, sit," she gestured to one of the armchairs.

"No, thank you. I don't think I can say what I need to say if I do." Quinn moved farther into the room to stand before the dark-haired Mistress. Hazel eyes confidently—_Almost_, Santana thought—met brown.

Santana raised an eyebrow. "All right. What's on your mind?" The Mistress sat and crossed her legs.

"A lot of things. I've been trying to make sense of everything that happened, especially what I was feeling. I haven't felt that much in a really long time…and that scares me. I don't know exactly what it is that made what happened just now seem so terrifying and thrilling and…well…enjoyable. I mean you were hitting me!"

"Spanking," Santana corrected.

"Spanking me, then…whatever. Geez, did you hear what I said? Spanking me? I'm a grown woman."

The Mistress sat up a little straighter. "You're a grown woman with needs and desires like everyone else."

"I don't even know what I want!" Quinn raised her voice and locked her hardening hazel eyes on Santana's.

"That's what we're trying to help you figure out." The Latina ground out her words, barely concealing her growing agitation.

"By what? Giving me massages? Getting me to bend over while you slap my ass like I'm some high-end escort?" Quinn was now standing directly in front of Santana, leaning down to look directly into brown eyes.

"Cara explained what it is that we provide here—an outlet for people who need the freedom to express those desires, the ones that society and religion say we're not allowed to have or act upon."

"How am I opening an outlet from these sessions with you? What are you and Cara hoping to accomplish with me being here? If this has anything to do with that first day, with…with…**her**…then I'm—"

"This is much bigger than your history with Rachel Berry." Sick and tired of the blonde's denial, Santana slowly raised herself up and out of her armchair. Quinn didn't budge, but her flinch at Rachel's name gave Santana a little satisfaction.

"Please, don't say her name."

Just as Quinn lowered her gaze to the floor, she felt Santana gently lift her chin. The kindness that swirled with indifference in her brown gaze reminded Quinn of those first moments with Santana and that look would never cease to amaze Quinn. "Look," the Mistress said softly, "no good or worthwhile Mistress is employed by Cara for being a bitch."

"I know," Quinn replied. She did know. The brief time Santana was able to strip away the rest of the world and give to her the things that somehow mattered was evidence of the Mistress' sensitivity and empathy. "I'm sorry, Mistress."

Santana's eyes softened, just like they had at the beginning of their session. "I'm sorry, too."

"For what?"

"For whatever it was that made you fear your own happiness."

Quinn whimpered at her words. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. Before her newfound confidence faded—like the scratches and redness that marked her still-tingling body—Quinn voiced one want she had discovered. "Mistress?"

"Yes, Quinn?" Santana brushed an errant lock of blonde hair from her face.

"I want to kiss you." Santana's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but she covered her shock well with a smirk. "May I give you that pleasure?"

Quinn held the Mistress' gaze as Santana brought a hand up to her face and tugged the leather glove off with her teeth. The two women continued to soak in each other's gazes and Santana repeated the action with her remaining glove. The Latina offered Quinn her hand. The blonde took the extended hand and tenderly traced the veins and bones under smooth, tanned skin before placing gentle kisses on each finger and a lingering kiss on her palm. Quinn took Santana's other hand and kissed her knuckles and palm.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Santana didn't bother to put her gloves back on. "Will we see you here again?"

Quinn smiled. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of the trouble…or pleasure…of teaching me."

The Latina cleared her throat.

"Mistress Santana."

**End of Part Four**

**Author's Note**: Thank you for reading. Constructive feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated.


	5. Small World

**Author's Note**: Faberry fans, I'm **finally** including some Rachel and Quinn interaction. As always, thank you for reading. Enjoy.

**Concede**

Part Five: Small World

o o o o o o o

"Another one, huh?"

Quinn looked up from her laptop. "Another what?"

Kurt walked into their living room, carefully sipping his tea as he threw his thumb behind toward the kitchen. Her roommate sat across from her, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in his pants. "Another appointment with Santana. I saw it on the calendar this morning. I'm guessing things went well."

Quinn smiled shyly. "You could say that."

"Oh, no. You're not getting off that easily." She just raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Wait," the designer held up a hand, ineffectively stopping Quinn's growing giggles. "You know what I meant, missy. As much fun as you're having at my expense, I'm still adamant about knowing what happened."

The blonde just continued to smile and clack away at her laptop.

"Quinn," he started again, moving to sit beside her. "I'm going to cash in one of my many I.O.U. best friend coupons. That **delicate** and delightful outfit **was** paid by yours truly. Please don't make me beg." Kurt slowly closed her laptop and Quinn bit her lip, knowing that if she held out a bit longer she would be rewarded with his dramatics.

"You are going to make me beg, aren't you?"

She turned to him, mischief glinting in her hazel eyes. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"I know that look. It's the same one you had when you asked to borrow my favorite fedora."

"Kurt," Quinn purred, setting her laptop on the coffee table and sidling up to him on the sofa. "Kurt, my wonderfully gay husband…"

"No! I won't have it!" He peeled her arms from around his neck, standing and placing his hands on his hips. "You're not going to get me this time, Quinn Fabray. I know exactly what you're up to and—"

Quinn cut him off and wrapped him in a tight hug from behind. "I'm not the only one who uses that calendar, darling. I just so happened to notice two tickets to your friend's fashion show tomorrow night. Were you ever going to tell me about it?"

"I knew her calendar idea would come back to haunt me someday."

"Kurt, you didn't answer my question."

He readjusted his collar and cleared his throat. "I didn't want to get your hopes up if Darren could go. Fortunately for you, he had to cancel at the last minute." Quinn's smirk turned into a full-blown grin. "I was going to offer you the extra ticket **after** hearing about your thing with Santana."

Quinn squealed and hugged him tighter. "Although you didn't ask me first, I still would've told you about what happened. You know that."

"Yes, well, keeping your best friend on edge and in the dark for even a day is cruel."

She released him and they both fell onto the sofa. "So, does this mean you'll help me shop for something to wear?"

o o o o o o o

_Quinn stared at herself, studied her reflection. Soft blonde waves were preened and pinned a second, third and fourth time. She looked and looked and looked, though the blonde was unsure about what she was supposed to find. There was nothing wrong with her dress. Her makeup was flawless. Even the gold Cross shone brightly around her neck. Daddy would be pleased._

_Her phone buzzed on her desk. Tearing her attention away from her reflection, Quinn tapped the screen a couple of times to read Puck's text message._

911?

_She quickly typed her response. _not yet.

who is it?

idk

tell me later. sos if u need.

ok thnx bye

"_Quinnie?" her mother's voice sounded through her door. "Your father wants you downstairs."_

"_Okay, Mom. I'll be down soon." Quinn deleted the message thread and quickly looked over her reflection again before leaving the safer confines of her room. She paused at the top of the stairs. Last night, Daddy had mentioned inviting a guest that he wanted her and Mom to meet. Quinn hoped it wasn't another one of his business clients or old classmates. The blonde shuddered at the memories of older men leering at her like a piece of young flesh or prize to win._

_Before Quinn could wonder further, her curiosity was piqued when she heard two male voices laughing in the living room below—one clearly her father's disarming chuckle and the other with a light rasp, a sign of emergence into adulthood. Daddy was setting her up. With a deep breath and hope that Puck would make good on his offered S.O.S., she descended the stairs to be introduced to the Fabrays' guest._

"_Oh, Quinnie, there you are," Judy got up to usher the youngest Fabray toward the two men getting to their feet._

_Russell Fabray pulled out quite a few stops. The fireplace crackled and popped. Its glow creating a wonderfully warm ambiance and highlighting the winks of her father's Rolex, his wedding band and the Ohio State signet ring adorning his other hand. He'd even managed to part with a finger of his preferred single malt whiskey, which sat illuminated through crystal in front of a young man._

"_Finn," her mother began. "I'd like you to meet my youngest daughter, Quinn." Judy subtly squeezed the younger woman's shoulders. Quinn took the hint. "Sweetheart, this is Finn Hudson."_

"_**Specialist**__ Finn Hudson," Russell smiled as he took his seat._

_The tall soldier let out a nervous laugh and offered his hand to her._

_Quinn just smiled politely and shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."_

"_Yeah, you, too," he replied._

_His Army Green uniform, Quinn mused, did not go well with her favorite yellow dress and his Frankenstein height made him an unfavorable dance partner. Well, undesirable for almost anything. They hadn't spoken more than ten words yet and he was already negative three points. God, she missed Kurt and his extensive criticisms on all things resolutely masculine. Quinn supposed she'd just have to pretend the young Hummel was seated beside her, whispering his comments in her ear._

"_Just call me Finn. It's weird when other people call me that. Specialist, I mean. And when I said other people, I meant people who are people not in the military." Another nervous guffaw._

_Judy sat beside her husband for a moment before he shooed her away with an uncharacteristically gentle order to refill his tumbler. Without a hitch, Judy took her husband's glass and quietly asked if he needed anything else. A flick of his hand sent her away into the kitchen. Quinn looked over at Finn who just smiled blankly in her mother's direction._

"_So, Finn, I heard you played football at McKinley."_

_The soldier instantly perked up. "Yeah, quarterback actually."_

_Russell glanced at his daughter. "You know, Quinn was a cheerleader."_

"_Really? That's kind of cool."_

_Quinn saw the hope burst in Finn's eyes, the same way other jocks would react when she would look in their general direction. "At Carmel," she commented, begging him to take the hint. _

_Unfortunately, he did not. Instead, Finn turned more fully toward her. "It's still cool. I wonder if I ever saw you at a game."_

"_You were probably just focused on the game instead of looking at the rival cheerleading squad," she quickly replied._

"_Maybe," he mumbled. Finn swirled the amber liquid and cleared his throat. "So, your dad said you went to U.C. Berkeley." At least he was trying to make some small talk, she thought while rewarding his comment with a smile and nod. "What'd you study?"_

"_Quinn was a double major," Russell beamed. "Economics and…?"_

"_Art, Daddy. Economics and Art."_

"_Ah, yes, Art. Every young lady should learn to appreciate the finer disciplines."_

_Quinn replaced an eye roll with a forced smile. "That's what I told you, Daddy." At that moment, Judy came back with the refilled tumbler. Her father immediately downed a generous amount of whiskey. "Plus," she continued, "I did it a semester early."_

"_Wow," Finn complimented. "That must've been hard. I barely got through high school. And that took all four years plus some summer school."_

_Everyone smiled and chuckled. "Well, I suppose this is a good time to announce that dinner is almost ready. Quinnie, will you help me set the table?"_

_Dinner was a fairly strained event. Quinn went through the motions and gave the expected responses to the usual inquiries and provided fitting stories with prompts from her family._

What are you doing now? Oh, that's so great your father got you a job at his company. Yes, a good daughter. What other plans do you have? How about children? You'd have such beautiful children. No doubt about that. But Lima's a nice place, too. Isn't it? No, I don't know where else I'd want to go. The food is amazing, Judy. Quinn, do you cook as well as your mother? Well, you'll just have to learn and soon if you're going to keep a husband.

_There were appropriate responses for everything. The youngest Fabray had quickly learned that if nothing else worked, a disarming smile and countering compliment always did the trick. Many of their guests were business acquaintances, all of whom were more enthusiastic to express their eagerness to support Russell Fabray. After all, his successes would surely guarantee theirs. The Fabray name bore a lot of weight in Ohio._

"_Finn, how's your mother doing?" Judy asked as she returned with dessert—a warm pie. The spiced aroma of apples filled the dining room and Quinn smiled. Not so long ago, the presence of her mother's homemade pie would have been temptation and sin in an aluminum tin. Then, the head cheerleader couldn't afford to try even a bite._

_The young man's eyes lit up. Quinn couldn't argue against that reaction, especially when said pie was leaving an enticing steam trail in its wake. "That's looks really good, Mrs. Fabray!"_

"_Thank you."_

"_Well, uh, anyway, my mom's doing good."_

_Ever the gracious hostess, Judy placed a large slice in front of the soldier, an equally large slice before her husband and an appropriate portion in front of Quinn. The former cheerleader was suddenly grateful that Finn had showed up. If it meant a well-behaved father and her mom's cooking, then she just might make a friend out of the tall soldier. "Is it true that she stopped working?" asked Judy._

"_Yeah, she quit since Burt's garage is doing so well and I'm not in the house anymore. She still also gets money from my dad's military pension."_

"_Burt Hummel?" Quinn clarified._

"_The one and only. He just expanded his shop downtown. Do you know him?"_

_Quinn had her brow furrowed. "Sort of," she commented. "I know his son Kurt and Puck, the other guy who works there. How do you—"_

_Finn shoveled baked apples, cinnamon and flaky crust and crumble in his mouth. "My mom and Burt are married, so I guess me and Kurt—"_

Oh, no.

"—_are step-brothers."_

"_Oh," she breathed, finally turning her attention to her cooling dessert. "Small world."_

"_Totally."_

o o o o o o o

"Oh, my god!" Kurt clutched Quinn's arm just as they turned from the bar, drinks in hand.

"What?" she hissed. "You almost made me spill my drink on the dress **you** picked out." When her best friend didn't respond, instead gaping like a frozen fish, the blonde elbowed him. "What is it?"

He turned wide blue eyes on her. "It's them," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Them!" Kurt gestured toward a pair of guys approaching the bar. Quinn recognized them as a couple of the models from the show earlier. Both were, in her opinion, very cute and it seemed most of the room would agree with her. Many stares were directed their way. She could sense the women scheming to get away from their dates and the men flirting with the idea of intimacy with other men. Kurt's grip on her arm tightened as the two models closed the distance between them. "Oh, dear. Oh, my god."

"Will you let go of me?" Quinn wrenched her arm free, shooting a shy smile at the blonde man and his dark-haired companion. "They might think we're together."

"You're right." Kurt flicked a stray hair from his swiftly sobering face.

She smirked. "You're totally singing _Single Ladies_ to yourself right now, aren't you?"

"I am a single lady, am I not?"

"Kurt, that song is like…thirt—"

"Excuse me," a crooning voice interrupted. Quinn thought she heard Kurt swallow the rest of his cool. The man, the dark-haired model that her best friend had pointed out and was trying not to drool over, and his blonde companion brushed past the two roommates.

"Uh…o-o-of c-course." Kurt's voice actually managed to go half an octave higher. When her friend only smiled, Quinn nearly face-palmed herself.

She fixed a look on her friend that clearly said, _What the fuck?_

_I don't know! I don't know what to do!_

Quinn's eyes widened with a crazy glint. _Say something!_

"Hi!" Kurt shouted at the two models who ever leaning against the bar next to them. "Great show, huh? I mean, you two were great, which, in turn, of course, made it a great show. So, I guess, great job!" She face-palmed herself and stepped from behind her roommate.

"Don't mind Kurt, he goes gaga at events like these," Quinn put on a dazzling smile, letting her internal cheerleader and popular girl instincts take over. She just hoped one—or both—had an eye for women. "He's right on one count. The show was amazing. Congratulations."

"Thank you," the dark-haired man replied. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Miss…?"

"Quinn Fabray," she filled in, shaking his hand. "And this dapper codfish is my best friend, Kurt."

He nodded at Kurt, which caused a mild shiver to run through the blue-eyed man. "I'm Blaine and this," he gestured to the blonde beside him, "is Sam." She shared another quick handshake. "Not to sound forward, but you seem familiar. Were you at Tina's last show?"

Quinn shook her head. "Sorry. This is the first I've been to. Must've been another blonde." They shared a laugh. "I'm more involved in photography and painting, at least, the gallery business side of things. What about you? How did you get into modeling?"

For several minutes, Quinn worked her wonders, steering the conversation to her whims. "Well, I don't want to keep you away from everyone else. Again, wonderful show." She was going to regret this later, but knew she owed Kurt a fair few. If Kurt was going to have any chance at either of the models, she was going to have to whip out her big guns.

Quinn recalled Santana's eyes and the way having that dark gaze fixed on her made her feel. She remembered the calmness that her Mistress brought with her telling smirk and the electricity that burned just under her skin when the Latina would hum. Before the feelings escaped her, Quinn turned her hazel eyes on Blaine's companion. "It was so nice to meet you," she purred.

"L-likewise," said Sam and received a fleeting but pointed look from Blaine. "You know…there's an after-after party a few blocks away."

Blaine quickly picked up. "Yeah, you two are welcome to come."

"Come?" Kurt breathed before taking a long sip of his drink. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed with her roommate's failing so-flustered-it's-kind-of-cute approach. She was going to have to go coy. Quinn bit her lip, looking at the barely touched cocktail in her hand.

"If it's not too much trouble—"

"No," Sam denied. "It's no trouble at all."

"Really?" she gushed. "That's sweet of you to invite us."

An hour later, Quinn was lounging in an armchair, nursing a flute of bubbly while watching Blaine and Kurt dancing in a sea of writhing bodies. The spacious penthouse was already nearly packed by the time she and the three men had arrived. Most of the party goers were recognizable—other models who'd strutted their stuff on the runway that evening, faces she'd seen seated in the front rows and the designer herself who was a friend of Kurt's from his college days. The blonde tipped her glass back, swallowing the remaining champagne. A server, decked out in a tuxedo, was right there to take her glass and offer another. Quinn gladly accepted. If she could drink a few flutes of top-shelf champagne for free, why not?

"Thank you, by the way."

She looked up into Sam's sweaty but smiling face. "What for?"

He nodded toward the dancing crowd. "For giving Blaine a reason to talk to your friend." Her confused look sent him chuckling. "We knew who Kurt was. His name's been coming up in the industry and it always pays to know who's who."

"Wait," Quinn huffed. "You mean I didn't actually have to try so hard?"

Sam only smiled wider. "Nope. Forgive me?"

"Only because you're cute and apparently a good guy!"

The blonde man flagged down a server for a drink before seating himself in the adjacent armchair. Quinn took her opportunity to get a better look over the man beside her. Sam was extremely attractive. His modeling career was testament to his good looks. She reasoned that he was also probably on the brighter side of things. Again, being a successful model required some upper room function. Throughout the evening, he'd been attentive, friendly and respectful. Overall, he had given a good first impression. Quinn still couldn't figure out that **one** thing about him.

"Sam." He turned to her, sipping his drink. "Are you…you know…?"

He gulped loudly as his eyes widened and bulged. "Oh, no, no, no. I'm not—"

"You're not—"

"No."

"Not at all?"

Sam shook his head.

"Not even…?"

He shrugged and was looking anywhere but at her. "I've never…I mean…living with Blaine and being good friends with him, it's crossed my mind, but—"

"But you've never actually done anything."

"No," he squawked, finishing off the rest of the bubbly.

"Oh." Quinn played with the ends of her hair. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I get that a lot."

"Still, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was none of my business."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

The two blondes continued to sit in their awkward silence, giving those who looked their way tentative smiles. Quinn wondered where Kurt had gone. Sam wondered if he should return her inquiry. He looked at Quinn while she was faced away from him. He knew she was beautiful and could probably make it big in modeling or acting if she chose. Learning briefly about her career, Sam reasoned she was intelligent. The conversations and light banter they'd indulged in earlier brought light to her humor and friendly nature. Overall, she had given a good first impression. Despite all these wonderful and appealing characteristics, he couldn't help but wonder about that **one** thing she hadn't given any clues toward.

"Quinn." She didn't turn to fully face him, but the sidelong look confirmed she'd heard him. "Are you—"

Without warning, the place was immersed in darkness. Slowly, the dimmers began to brighten the dance area and Quinn wasn't sure what she had done to warrant the universe's cruelty. Spotlights illuminated two figures—one Quinn recognized as Kurt's friend, Tina and the other sent Quinn's heart into V-Fib.

There, not more than thirty feet from where Quinn sat perched at the edge of her seat stood Rachel Berry. Styled in a sequined burgundy peasant dress styled tunic, her dark hair fell in waves over her exposed shoulders. The empire waist cinched her figure perfectly and stopped mid-thigh, giving way to legs toned from years of dance and delicate ankles and feet encased in gold Greek heels. _Oh, goddess divine._

Opposite her was Tina whose Gothic-inspired chic wear seemed at cultural and fashionable odds with the other brunette. Quinn wondered if the showcased designer had a death wish. She was all too familiar with Rachel's diva attitude and sometimes over-competitive nature.

"**Any**thing you can do, I can do **better**."

_Of course she would_, Quinn thought.

"Ha!"

"I can do anything better than you," Rachel's lilted soprano crooned. Quinn felt her insides melt and turn to mush as that voice flowed through her mind and rang in her heart.

"No, you can't," denied Tina.

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can." Rachel stomped her foot.

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. Yes, I can!"

The crowd whooped and laughed as the two singers circled each other in the brief silence. Quinn was impressed. Tina had some power to pack in her vocal punch.

"Any note you can reach, I can sing higher," Tina sang with a flourish of her hair.

"I can sing anything higher than you," countered Rachel.

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"**No, you can't**."

"**Yes, I can**."

"No, you **caaaaaaaan't**!"

"Yes, I…," Rachel scrunched her face up and Quinn braced herself, "…**caaaaaaaaan**!"

Their audience clapped and whistled, to which Rachel curtsied and bowed. Even Tina was smiling and applauding her mock rival. "How **do** you sing that high?" the Asian asked.

Rachel flipped her hair and winked. "I'm Rachel Berry." Everyone chuckled.

"Any note you can hold, I can hold longer," Tina challenged again, causing people to start shouting out their bets.

"I can hold any note longer than you," Rachel laughed.

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you caaaaaaa—"

Rachel cut her off, "Yes, aaaaaaaa…" Tina had stopped and watched with everyone else. "…aaaaaaaaa…" A number of onlookers were glancing at their watches, keeping time. "…aaaaaaaaa…" Tina began tapping her foot, making everyone giggle when Rachel continued to hold her note. "…aaaaaaaa…." At this point, people were clapping and hollering Rachel's name. "….aaaaaaaye—*gasp*—can," she squeaked the last word.

The room erupted in applause, peppered with whoops and whistles. The designer gave Rachel a pat on the back. Even Quinn clapped a few times. She'd timed Rachel at fifteen seconds years ago, but the blonde was certain the diva had only improved. "Rachel Berry, everyone!" Tina gestured to her fellow singer. Rachel accepted the applause graciously before moving off the dance floor to give Tina the crowd's undivided attention.

o o o o o o o

Lays or Ruffles? Original or Cheddar? What about Sour Cream & Onion?

_Standing in the middle of the chips and pop and specialty beverage aisle of the grocery store, the youngest Fabray debated the different merits of potato chips. It was one of the days leading up to the Bowl Championship Series (a pigskin-shaped cookie to who knows what __**that**__ is) and Finn and Puck had begged her to stock up on snacks for the big games. Like the loving girlfriend and friend that she thought herself to be, Quinn found herself standing beside a few other women looking over the long aisle of chips._

_Twenty minutes later, the blonde was pulling up to the Hummel's house where one could already hear the guys shouting and yelling at the TV. With a paper bag full of chips—both brands and all three flavors—Quinn walked up the driveway and held in a groan when she heard her name being called._

"_Wait for me, Quinn!"_

_The former cheerleader kept a neutral expression as Rachel Berry jogged to catch up to her. The brunette's arms were weighed with their own burdens. Quinn eyed the twelve-pack of light beer and twelve-pack of pop in Rachel's hands. "Hey," she greeted the brunette with a guarded smile._

"_Hello, Quinn! May I assume that you're also here to partake in the football festivities?"_

_She nodded. "Yes, but I'll be bored out of my mind."_

"_As will I, especially because I do not understand why such a sport is called football. After all, none of the players aside from the kicker uses their feet to make contact with the ball. It seems so absurd to get excited about grown men smashing into each other like enraged bulls—"_

_Quinn cleared her throat. "Don't you want to go inside? It's pretty cold out here and those look heavy," she pointed at the cases of drinks at the brunette's sides._

"_Oh! Yes, let's go in."_

_Inside, Quinn smirked at the scene before her. Finn and Puck were standing in front of the sofa, pointing and yelling at the TV before groaning and collapsing back on the cushions. Burt chuckled from his armchair, readjusting his worn and faded blue cap._

"_Quinn! Rachel!" Finn's mom greeted them._

"_Hello, Mrs. Hummel," Rachel smiled._

"_Please, Rachel," the older woman groaned. "Call me Carole."_

"_So, where shall we put all this?"_

_Carole gestured toward the kitchen. "Just put the drinks in the fridge and get the chips settled in front of the boys. Be careful. They may end up throwing stuff."_

_Not much later, without any acknowledgment or word of thanks from the boys, except Burt, Quinn and Rachel sat side by side on the back porch. Each young woman was bundled tightly with her own fleece blanket and a second thick comforter encasing both together like a pod. Sunlight filtered through the thick clouds, evenly brightening the patches of snow in the backyard. For a moment, Quinn regretted not wanting to take a mug of hot chocolate with her, but Rachel's humming brought her similar warmth._

_Although Quinn had been reluctant to spend her free afternoon with Rachel, she was finding the brunette to be more pleasant than she initially thought. Kurt had gotten off too easily, she thought. He'd tucked tail at the first mention of football and scampered off to supposedly meet up with a friend in Columbus for a shopping trip. Hah!_

"_You must really love this town."_

"_Huh?" Quinn arched an eyebrow._

_Rachel shrugged. "Lima. You must really love it here."_

"_What gives you that idea?"_

_Another shrug. "Puck told me you went to Berkeley for college. I've never been to California myself, but it seems like a much more exciting place than this." The brunette brushed her bangs back. "Of course, nothing is actually wrong with Lima. I've been here all my life."_

"_Me, too," said Quinn. The blonde burrowed deeper into the comforter. "And it is more exciting…Berkeley, I mean. I came back because my parents wanted me back home."_

"_Was it what you wanted?"_

"_No."_

_Quinn turned away from Rachel's questioning eyes, pretending to be interested in the grain of the wooden window frame. She didn't want to tell the brunette about all the arguments she and her father had over the phone and when she visited during breaks about the useless art classes she was taking. She didn't want to talk about how she saved almost every penny from her various under-the-table jobs so her parents wouldn't find out about her secret savings and what she planned to do with it. Quinn didn't want to think about how much happier she had been over two thousand miles away from a place she was supposed to call home._

"_My house is just a few blocks away. We could spend the rest of the afternoon there. Watch a movie or something."_

_Quinn looked over at Rachel. Maybe there was more to Rachel's offer than just an afternoon away from football-crazed males. The girl's eyes were full of hope and friendship and Quinn hadn't really experienced a genuinely good girl friend, even in high school. Plus, Kurt was away in New York and Puck wouldn't really understand. And it was just for an afternoon, just for a few hours._

_The blonde nodded her head slowly, reasoning that she and Rachel would probably be no more than fairly good friends. "Okay."_

o o o o o o o

It was only when Quinn noticed that Rachel was heading in her direction that she began to panic. Of course she just **had** to sit between the bar and dance area. The blonde located the exit behind her and shot out of her seat, but not before catching Rachel's surprised and shocked gaze. She hastily muttered something to Sam about needing to make a phone call before securing her purse and pushed through the crowd toward the front door, notably the elevator.

Pushing through the throng of people, Quinn hoped others were stalling Rachel about her performance. She wasn't sure if she could handle a face-to-face confrontation with the brunette, especially without the professionalism that Cara had provided during their last encounter. No, out here in the real world, Quinn would have to make her own means of escape.

"Quinn!"

The blonde cursed under her breath, but continued to plow between guests. The door was open. Light and the promise of space to run were within reach.

"Quinn, wait!"

Bursting from the crowded and warm penthouse, Quinn quickly scanned the hallway for the elevator. Just several strides to her right, seeming an impossible distance away, lay her escape. The blonde damned her heels, which kept her from sprinting across the lavish carpet. Damnation of her heels was instantly forgotten when the elevator dinged its arrival. Quinn cursed again when Kurt and Blaine stumbled out of the opened doors and into the hallway.

"Quinn!" Kurt piped up with a shit-eating grin on his face and Blaine giggling beside him.

"**Where** the **fuck** have you been?" She flew by the two men and nearly slammed into one of the elevator walls.

"**Quinn**! **Quinn**!" Rachel shrieked as she tore down the hallway past Kurt.

"**Rachel**?" he gaped at the brunette giving chase.

"Hi, Kurt! Bye, Kurt!" she yelled without looking back.

Again, Quinn damned her short second of being unable to locate the button for the lobby. Instead, she just mashed several buttons near the bottom and held her breath as the large doors began to slide shut. It was in those few fleeting heartbeats that Quinn acknowledged that everything would change again.

In excruciatingly slow motion, as the gears and cables ground and whirred, Rachel seemed to almost soar into Quinn's vision. Her dark hair fluttered behind her and her face, with cheeks reddened from the chase, was set in a worried frown. Quinn grasped at her chest as if she could keep her chest from constricting with those teary brown eyes fixed on her through the closing doors. At the last moment, Rachel threw her arm in the decreasing space, wincing at the painful but brief sensation of having her forearm clamped between the doors.

"Oh, shit!" Quinn grabbed at Rachel's extended arm, helping to pull her through the mechanical vice.

Both women gasped for much needed air as the doors finally slid shut, leaning against opposite walls of the descending lift. When she breathed in the brunette's perfume, Quinn was instantly transported through memories made nearly five years ago, to a time when she'd been chained and freed by love.

The blonde looked up at the woman she'd once vowed to stand beside forever. Time had been generous with Rachel and Quinn could only gaze upon her with awe and a growing need. How was it possible for someone to look so breathtaking—literally—after so much heartache and pain? Her hair had grown out and she'd become a bit more toned, but Rachel's expressive brown eyes had remained unchanged. Quinn had always known what the brunette was trying to convey from her countenance alone; however, in that moment, Quinn couldn't decipher between scared, excited, annoyed, happy, nervous or hopeful.

Quinn didn't have much time to figure out what was running through Rachel's head because the brunette took a step toward her, effectively halving the distance between them. The blonde pressed back harder against the elevator wall, wishing the brunette would look at her with such intensity and longing, with such love.

With a speed Quinn couldn't comprehend, Rachel had taken the remaining steps toward her, grasped her face with both hands and kissed her. Hard. The blonde was shoved against the wall, the low handrail digging into her lower back and the brunette's curves pressing deliciously against her front. And like a perfectly rehearsed and practiced art, Quinn could only respond with a hand at the back of Rachel's neck and an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

She panted against the singer's full lips before surging back in with a hunger she hadn't felt in years. When her fervent kisses were matched and met with Rachel's hand pressed at the underside of her breast, Quinn felt the huntress within her claw its way out of her in the form of a deep moan. Each swipe of the brunette's tongue, push and press of her lips and poorly suppressed whimper stoked the fire that had lay small and dormant.

Quinn tried desperately to remember her reasons for running from the brunette, but could only make out Rachel's smile and eyes as she sang with Tina, laughed at a joke, misted over during a sappy movie and that shone with unbridled joy when looking at her. Those same eyes that she saw every night in her dreams.

"We'll just take the next one."

_Wha—?_ When did they move across the elevator so that she was pushing the brunette against the opposite wall? And when had she gripped Rachel's leg that was wrapped around her waist? The blonde tore her mouth from Rachel's to stare into the wide eyes of another couple. _Fuck! Shit!_

As the doors slid closed and she looked at Rachel who had a hand over her mouth and the other still clinging to Quinn's neck, the blonde felt her body shaking. Before fear could consume her again, that primal urge swelled. Instead of a fraught need to flee, the huntress within urged her to claim. Quinn recognized the predator's demand and she loved the feeling.

So, when she felt the lift begin its descent and Quinn used her free hand to tip Rachel's face up to hers, she wondered if this is what Santana felt when looking at her. The other woman's brown eyes held a sweet trepidation, as if she'd been caught with her hand in a very naughty place. The elevator dinged its lobby arrival just as Quinn leaned down to press a tender kiss to those lips. Like their last embrace, the blonde allowed herself to lose her inhibitions and worries. The feel of Rachel's mouth and body against hers only helped her to do so.

Running her hands over Rachel's legs and back and chest had Quinn moaning her approval. Rachel answered with hisses and whimpers of her own when the blonde trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses beside her ear, down her sensitive neck and across the hollow of her throat. Quinn looked at the dainty bow that held one side of Rachel's tunic together before undoing it in an instant with her teeth. The blonde didn't think there was a sexier sound than Rachel gasping when Quinn kissed her newly exposed shoulder.

"Quinn," the singer moaned, digging her fingers harder into gold tresses.

The blonde didn't even register what she said until the words tumbled from her mouth. "There's a hotel across the street."

_Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiit! Fucking traitorous body!_

"My apartment's just a few floors up," Rachel whispered, grinding herself down on Quinn's thigh. When had **that** gotten **there**?

Rachel grabbed her face again, ravishing her mouth with those full lips. The brunette pulled away for a second before bringing her mouth back to kiss Quinn languidly and slowly but no less passionately. The kisses were promises. Quinn just let enjoyed them, not thinking about before or what might follow after. There was no moment but the one she was in now…with Rachel.

Quinn leaned back and brought her hand up to caress Rachel's flushed cheeks. "Okay."

**End of Part Five**

**Author's Note**: Thank you for reading. Constructive feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated.

**Songs**: Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better


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